


My Dear Fathers

by FairytaleLoveandChocolate



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Coming of Age, Family, Memoir/Autobiography, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 122,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairytaleLoveandChocolate/pseuds/FairytaleLoveandChocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was the Dragonborn's Daughter. The blood of a Legend. Her Mother was a hero, the saviour of Nirn. But the one thing she could never be was a Mother. </p><p>This is the story about the daughter of the Dragonborn, and how her life unfolded, with a mother who was never there and fathers who kept on changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In my father's house

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Runa Fair-Shield](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Runa+Fair-Shield).



> ~  
> This story means a lot to me personally, so please be nice.  
> I was inspired by my own Dovahkiin and her treatment to her adopted children, and how I kept on killing their father.  
> This story goes a little deeper than that.

I was born in the spring, the 28th of Rain's Hand in the year 4E 195. My brother came minutes just before. Our mother would tell us it was a rainy day, and that everything but the water falling from the sky was still. She told us that not even the market stalls were open, and not one visitor had walked through the gates of Solitude. There was nothing spectacular about that day, and it had belonged solely to us. It was just a consolation of course, since there was nothing special about a name day, not for a twin, especially the girl who happened to be born second. We both found comfort however, as all children would.

Father told us it was the second happiest day of his life. He told us that Hroar and I were his favourite pieces of the world. Father said that when I was born, I did not wail, nor did I fret. I was a pinkfaced wrinkly babe, but I was beautiful and well, and he could not have hoped for more. I was a calm child, loving the sound of Father's lute. Hroar, however was another story. Redfaced and beautiful, he was the loudest child Father, Mother and Lydia had ever heard. Father would always pat Hroar's blond hair and say, "The lungs of a singer, and the brains of an ogre." Mother would chastise him and then he and Hroar would play chase.

Father was always a lovely man who loved my brother and me dearly, but the day that he loved most was the day he wed Mother. How I used to love to hear of this day. Father would tell it differently than Mother and I very much loved his version more. He spoke of Mother's beauty and the crown made of Blue Mountain flowers. He spoke of her red hair and pale lips. He told us of the vows and the words they made promise. Mother however, told it differently in a manner far less enticing for a girl of four. Her eyes would shine and the corners of her lips would twitch upwards. "It was a wedding like any other," she told me, continuing with whatever she was doing. "The wedding is never quite as important as the marriage itself."

When I was very young, I asked Lydia why she was not married. "I have other duties," she said, brushing my wavy locks. "You, for example. I must aid the Thane Elaira in raising you."

"But mommy has daddy, and she does good at raising me," I protested, turning to look at Lydia in the mirror.

"My life is to serve you, Loralei; you and your family. A Housecarl protects," she said, resting the silver hairbrush down on the night stand. "Now dear, no more questions. Would you like a story before bedtime?" I nodded and smiled up at her, bright eyed but feeling tired. "Alright, get under your covers." I did as told and Lydia pulled my soft sheets up to my chin. "What story would you like to hear?"

"Will you sing like Mother does?" I demanded, snuggling deeper into my feather pillow. Stroking my back she began to sing, " _Oh there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…_  "

Soon enough I was asleep.

I loved Lydia with all my heart and I believe I always will. Lydia was a beautiful woman, with dark hair and grey eyes, but she was more than that. Lydia was more than my Housecarl too; she was my guardian, my true guardian angel. She protected me more than even Kynareth herself, she raised me from babe to woman, and there is not a soul I love more. Not even my dear fathers.

* * *

I have fond memories of all of them, though perhaps not enough.

* * *

Onmund, my blood father, was a great man. He wielded magic like the sky carried the stars. His face was scarred but unbroken and his green eyes were joyful. All my fathers taught me many lessons, lessons I shan't ever let leave my mind, but perhaps it was my first father that taught me the most. He taught me my first words, my first steps. He taught me the meaning of 'father', of 'brother' and of 'mother'. He taught me how to ride a horse, and how to read. My father taught me what I needed to survive. It was the gift that every father was required to give.

He was also more than that. He was not a father I felt forced to love, but I did love him. I loved his scarred hands and the tales he would tell me before bed.

But while I had always been more drawn to father however, and him to me, Hroar found preference in Mother. He would go to her with bad dreams of wetted beds. He would listen to her tales and fall asleep to her songs. He would pick her blue mountain flowers during his fishing trips with father. Hroar loved our Mother; he idolized her. He thought her brave, smart, cunning and funny. He saw no wrong in the woman who came to wrong us all.

* * *

Autumn came all too soon in the year 4E 201, with leaves littering the streets of Solitude and the villagers everywhere preparing for the upcoming winter. Night was falling and I had torn my dress playing tag with Hroar. I opened the door to the Proudspire Manor basement to be greeted by Hroar's skeever, called Critter. I heard mother and father upstairs and as I made my way their voices became clearer. Mother said, avoiding all attempts of interruption, "As Thane, it's my duty… Potema … the children…" When it was Father's turn he made no effort to calm his voice.

"Elaira, I do not care of your title, as your husband, it is my duty to  _protect_  our family!" I continued quietly up the steps, and when I reached the top neither Mother nor Father noticed me lurking.

"I do not need your protection, Onmund! In fact, my skills best any of yours by far!"

"I will not let you go in there –" Father began before seeing me. "Loralei, sweet what are you doing here? You were told to go play outside," Father said, his green eyes calming.

"Daddy, my dress is broken," I said, looking from Mother, whose eyebrows were furrowed, to Father, who wore only curiosity.

"Lydia!" Mother called, walking towards me. "Are you alright, love? Where's your brother?"

"I'm okay, Mother. Hroar still plays," I told her as she knelt down, holding my shoulders tightly.

"Is something the matter, my thane?" Lydia asked, wearing my mother's previous concern. Kissing my cheek, my mother stood and turned and turned to Lydia.

"Get her bathed and changed, I'm going to go get Hroar." Mother strode across the room to the tall doors of our Manor. "Onmund, we'll talk tonight," she said before walking out the door. Lydia took my hand and led me to the bathing chambers.

The next morning it was Lydia who woke us. Mother and Father were absent as Hroar, Lydia, and I broke our fast on the small table on the landing of the stairs. Lydia was always the most admirable cook, and Hroar and I said no words as we devoured our delicious meal. Breakfast cakes and food too fancy to pronounce filled me up to the point of pure bliss. When we were finished, Hroar finally posed the question. "Where are Mother and Father, Housecarl?"

"They are preparing for travel, Hroar. They should be back later to say goodbye. Now, before you go play, you need to do your chores." I nodded and excused myself as Hroar let out a sigh.

I was probably the only child in the world who enjoyed chores. It was always peaceful to me, and everything was always better when it was neat and tidy. I enjoyed the soft wisps as the straw brooms danced around on the stone floors. I enjoyed tending my horse at the stables not far from the cities and I loved seeing my chamber free of clutter and of dust. The only chore that I disliked was tending to the dirtied plates.

"I hate this," Hroar proclaimed, "all the other kids always get to play!"

"Well, Hroar, they don't have Lydia, I'm sure they do a lot more," I told him, scooping up my pile. "And Daddy and Lydia always bring us treats when we do it well,"

"I can't wait till Mother and Papa go on this trip," Hroar proclaimed excitedly, "they always get us the nicest stuff."

"Yeah, that flute Mother brought home last time was nice."

"Oh please, Loralei, my wooden sword is  _so_  much better! I'm a knight! You're just a little girl." I huffed and frowned.

"I could be a bard, you know!" Hroar only laughed and I had to fight back tears. He was so stupid. "And Father knows I'm  _so much_  smarter than you!"

"Does not!" he proclaimed, putting his hands on his hips.

"Does too!" I protested, crossing my arms, and lifting my chin.

"Does  _not_!"

"Yes he does! He said it himself, you can go ask him!"

"You're just a dumb goody goody little girl who thinks she can play the flute even though she's not even better than a horker!"

"You're the horker brain!"

"Yeah, well you're a SpiderBrat!"

"Oh  _really?_  At least I don't smell worse than my own pet skeever!"

"Orc foot!"

"FalmerFace!"

"TrollToe!"

Our argument was only interrupted by the sound of the door opening. In near synchronization we dropped our brooms. I ran into my Father's arms, as did Hroar with Mother's. His arms were tight around me and the fabric of his robes was familiar, the scent of the Solitude air. After hugging, our parents knelt down to reach our eye level. My father put his hands on the sides of my face, his large hands tugging gently at my large ears. "You've always had my ears," he whispered to me. I grabbed his ears gently, receiving a giggle from the man. We both slowly let go as Mother began to speak.

"Alright children," Mother began, her brilliant green eyes sparkling with something I couldn't understand. "Your Papa and I are going to be gone for a few days, okay?" I could hardly concentrate on her words. I always thought Mother was the most beautiful like this, her long, dark, curls falling over her shoulders, red war paint around her eyes. She was clad in tight armor, all of her weapons set in place. Her dark sword which was so mesmerizingly black, was covered in a black sheathe which was somehow even darker. Her shrouded armor, I knew was so worn, but barely a scratch made it through. I was mesmerized by my mother, who I thought was so beautiful, so strong. I'd seen her wield her bow before and I knew that no man or woman nor creature could ever defeat her.

I remember thinking that I was nothing like her. Even at the age of six I thought I could never be as amazing as Mother. I wished that the gifts she passed on to me would surpass the hard line of our jaws and the stunning green of our eyes. Perhaps we were more similar than I thought, but in that moment, Mother was someone I knew I could not live up to.

"Hroar, my brave boy," she began. Mother kissed him on the cheek before whispering in his ear. She took my hands next. "Loralei, my girl." She planted a chaste kiss on my forehead and leaned in to whisper, "I love you, Loralei. And understand that when I am gone, for long, for short or forever, that you will always be loved, okay? And that you are the woman of the house until I return, but be good to Lydia. She loves you, and cares for you. I love you, Loralei." I smiled. It was what she said each time. And every time, Mother and Father always came back, safe.

"Have fun, Mama!" Hroar said with a dimply smile. Mother returned it and stood up to let Papa say his temporary goodbyes. His was quicker, which was fine because I knew he would have left us goodbye notes in our room.

"Hroar… Loralei, my darling children. I love you, and I promise the next time we meet, I shall spoil you rotten." Papa gave us kisses through a fit of giggles and then they were on their way.

* * *

I remember the 1st of Sun's Dusk 4E 201 exactly, from the moment I woke. I had been dreaming of something beautiful, but it was something I could not understand until many years later. I was at the peak of a mountain, the wind blowing hard, but leaving me unaffected. Blue petals flew all around me and I spread my black, scaled wings. The feeling was incomprehensible and exhilarating. I could see nothing and everything all around me and it was as if time itself did not exist. The world had stopped to let the wind blow, to let me fly. I opened my mouth and I sang. I sang loudly, but my voice was lost in the wind. I could not hear the sounds of my vibrations, but I knew the world below me did. My entire existence had led up to that point, at this peak of the mountain. And though my wings were spread from my perch and I was ready, the world was not, and though I tried to fly, the wind would not let me. The wind began to circle around me harder and harder, the blue petals on the wind grew in number and eventually I had to let it all suffocate me.

I had woken up wet with sweat and tears. I screamed and shook and eventually both Hroar and Lydia were rocking me to sleep. Hroar sung softly in my ear, " _Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…_ "

Eventually I had fallen back into a dreamless sleep until I was woken once more, this time by Lydia's gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Loralei, get up." I did as told, and went to help Lydia wake up Hroar who put up a good fight. She dressed us in black and held our hands as she led us through the city. There was a chill in the air that morning, and the only sounds I could hear were the creaking of store signs and sellers at their market stalls. Only few people were up and about, some store owners fiddling with their shop locks, and some mothers going out to get breakfast foods.

The trees were damp, and I realised that it had probably rained the night before. All throughout the town of Solitude, there was a strange dreariness. Perhaps it was the morning air or the lack of energy, but I did not know.

Lydia led us through the cobblestone roads, all the way to the Hall of the Dead. There was a big, black box in the middle of the small cemetery, and before it stood eight people. They stood around the big box, touching their amulets of the divines. The one who held the Amulet of Zenithar was a man with dark brown hair and a strong jaw. Stendarr was in the hands of the woman with pointed ears; the only elf there. I did not pay attention to the others, finding myself being drawn instead to the Nord that stood in the middle. She had red hair like my mother, and big ears like my father. Her cheeks were rosy and warm, even in the morning cold. I looked down to her pale, delicate hands to see she held the Amulet of Akatosh.

It took me a moment to realise that there was a woman kneeling by the big box, her armoured figure hunched over. It was mother. "Mama?" I called. She looked back at me, her war paint smeared and her eyes dark and tired. Her hair seemed dirty and it seemed as though all the youth and beauty had left her once-pretty face. Hroar ran towards her, his arms wrapping around her. Mother hugged him back, but it seemed like an empty embrace.

Slowly, I walked towards my brother and Mother. "Where is father?" I asked absently as I peered into the big box. Inside laid a man in Mage robes in a bed of blue flower petals. As I stared at my father's face, I could hear the Priestess with red hair say "May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

* * *

In the beginning I did not ever fully understand. I had asked Hroar what had happened and all he could tell me was, "Father is in Sovngarde, with Ysgramor."

Lydia tried to explain it to me as well, with words I still could not comprehend. "Your father is gone now, in a better place, and when it is your turn, you will see him again, in Sovngarde."

I asked my mother as well, but she refused to see me all together. She refused to see anyone. She stayed in her chambers and only went out to empty her chamber pot and bathe. Lydia brought mother her meals, morning, noon and evening, but Mother barely touched it. Hroar and I would eat all our meals with only Lydia and Critter.

Once, only a few days after the Hall of the Dead, I woke up in the middle of the night, from a nightmare I can no longer recall. I got myself out of bed and made my way to knock on Mother's closed door. However, before I could knock on the cold hard wood, I heard a whimper. It was soft, but the harder I listened I could hear her muffled wails. Slowly and quietly I slid down and sat; my back leaning against the door. I could still hear mother's cries, so I did what I knew always dried my tears.

It started out as a whisper just loud enough so I knew Mother could hear. " _Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red_ …"

It was the first time the song that could free my sorrows, had ever wet my cheeks.

When the song was over the door slowly opened, and I felt my mother's arms wrap around me. She picked up my small body and kicked the door shut. She carried me to the bed, and as I drifted back into sleep, I heard her whisper, "I'm so sorry."

* * *

I woke up to an empty bed the morning next.

* * *

Two months mother was gone and there was no word from her. During the first few days, it all seemed normal enough. Mother had left for many days at a time before, for work, as Lydia would tell us. Hroar told me to pretend Father was with Mother, adventuring like they told tales of. So, I convinced myself that this was the truth. We continued our breakfasts and dinners and lunches. We continued to play and do our own chores. We continued on, waiting patiently for mother to come home. However, when one week turned into two, Hroar and I began to worry. Together we wrote her a letter which read:

_Deer Mama,_

_We miss you. Com home._

_Luv, Hroar end Loralei_

Hroar glued on a blue mountain flower with candle wax, like Father had taught us, and together we handed it to Lydia to send to our mother.

Four weeks flew by and we received no word from her.

* * *

I found peace in the Temple of the Divines. Complete peace. Some days I would wake up early and walk over with our neighbour Vittoria Vicci. She was a beautiful woman, and she told me that she was the Emperor's cousin, and that she was engaged to a beautiful man. She liked to talk a lot, especially about her upcoming wedding, but when the sermons started, she became silent, as did I.

The temple was a magnificent place with a ceiling so high not even a giant could touch it. The walls were dark and menacing. The stain glass windows and the men and women in priest robes were brilliant. The high priest of the divines was called Rorlund. He wore orange robes like the other priests, and his hair was red and shoulder length, only he had a large bald spot at the top of his head. He bore a well-kept goatee and his voice boomed throughout the Temple.

"As high priest of the Nine Divines, I bid you welcome," he would begin. "Everyone is welcome in the sanctity of this Temple. Wander no more, for you are among friends here, and safe. Whether you be of grey skin or of North blood, this temple and this sermon and the words of the divines were all written and built for you.

"Today, is the 31st of Evening Star, a glorious day all across Tamriel. The Old Life Festival takes place this night, and the New takes place tomorrow…" And so he went on, and I listened, and burned his words into my brain. As he spoke I remembered the New and Old Life festival of last year. Hroar and I had celebrated with all the other children and families during the evening. There were long tables set up along the roads of Solitude, filled with mountains of Sweetrolls and other treats. Bards from the Bard's college played music all throughout the streets. Everyone was dancing and everyone was happy. I even danced with the High King himself. I wondered if he and Father could still dance in Sovngarde. I wondered if it was even possible to count the years in Sovngarde.

We all celebrated ferociously and when the New Year begun, Lydia took Hroar and I home, as Mother and Father as well as the rest of the town moved the celebrations into the town's inn. "You don't want to go in there," Lydia would tell Hroar who was upset that he did not get to celebrate with the rest of the adults. "Free ale makes fools of respectable adults."

"Mother and father would never act foolish," I protested, hopping into bed.

"I could tell you some stories, child," she told me before kissing my forehead.

"Please do," said Hroar as they left my room to go to his. Lydia laughed.

"Maybe when you're older," she told him before closing the door behind them.

* * *

This year was not so much fun. The celebrations were not as grand as the years before and Lydia refused to let us celebrate at the Winking Skeever, because of 'drunkards' whatever that meant. Hroar asked but I did not pay care to the response.

"Hroar?" I asked my brother. It was past our bedtime, and we were in our Mother's bed where we'd taken to sleeping. "When are Mommy and Daddy coming back?"

I could not see him, but I felt him shift under the sheets to turn to me.

"They're just taking longer so they can find us perfect presents," he told me. I smiled and hugged him. In each other's arms, we fell asleep.

* * *

"Hroar wake up!" I shook him. He groaned and rolled over, face down into the pillow. "Hroar! It's the New Life day!" Hroar groaned once more and rolled again, this time face up. His brows were furrowed, and his face was shiny. I placed my hands on his cheeks. They were warm and wet. I moved one hand to his forehead. It almost hurt to keep her hands there. Critter, who had been sleeping, hopped up onto the bed and licked Hroar's face. I frowned. What was wrong with Hroar?

I got off the bed and padded my way to Lydia's room. I knocked three times before she answered, still in her night robe. Her hair was a little messy and she stifled a yawn before asking, "What's wrong Loralei?"

"Hroar won't get up," I told her. She frowned before pushing past me to Mother's room.

* * *

Mother came home before he died. I waited outside his room with Lydia, and listened through the door, though I could only hear their mumbling. When Mother came out there was a blue mountain flower in her hand. I tried looking her in the eyes but she would not meet mine. She said only four words to us.

"We're going to Riften."


	2. The beauty of old men

We walked into Riften only twenty-one hours after leaving my home. The journey was swift since we took the main roads, but it was long. At first, when I'd not wanted to leave, I managed to resist my mother's insistences. It was only later, when I found Critter lying dead in Hroar's bed that I had never wanted to step foot in Proudspire Manor ever again. After that, I knew that there was only false hope in pretending Father, Hroar, and Critter would ever return. When Critter went to join Hroar in Sovngarde, it was time we moved on as well.

I held Mother's hand with my right; the left occupied by my doll favourite doll, whose painted eyes were beginning to wear. Lydia walked behind us.

Riften was a strange place. The smell was quaint and the sky was grey. Everything seemed broken or old and everything was made of wood, even the roads and the houses and the lamp posts.

Mother walked up to a man who leaned against a short support post. He wore steel armor and a dark frown. His black hair was pulled back and his thick dark brows were furrowed. "I don't know you," he said to Mother. "You in Riften looking for trouble?" Mother gripped my hand tighter, and slowly guided me to stand behind her.

"What's it to you?" she demanded. The large man sneered, taking a step towards Mother, towering over her.

"Don't say something you'll regret. Last thing the BlackBriars need is some loudmouth tryin' to meddle in their affairs."

"Well, I can assure you that you won't be worrying about that. I can promise that as long as you stay away from my home and my family, you and your little Black-Briars will not have a problem with me." The man snorted and returned to leaning against the post. As Mother walked on, I clenched onto my doll, following close behind.

At first Riften seemed small compared to the vast and beautiful city that was Solitude. We stopped at the Bazaar in the centre of the city, and Mother told me to wait with Lydia near the railing. A dirty old man sat near a pile of barrels next to us. He looked at us funny, but said nothing. Curiously, I looked over the rail and saw water. "What yer seein' is the side of Riften dat people like yerselves like to ignore. Best ye not fall over or ye might not come back up." The strange bum snickered as I inched closer to Lydia's side.

I did not like it in Riften. It scared me. The grey sky and the underground city made me feel unwelcome, as did the leering eyes of the strange people who were stuck here. They all sneered and begged for coin, and I did not know why. The hammering of the anvil unnerved me and its steady rhythm was like a drum beat at the back of my mind that I could not ignore. A strange man selling strange potions looked at Mother funny, and she looked at him back. Grey skins littered the streets and a mean lady behind a market stall kept yelling at us.

Mother yelled a lot too. I tried never to hear her, but it was always hard to block out. She yelled at Lydia, which made me sad because Lydia was always so good to Mother. When Mother stopped yelling, I would give Lydia lots of hugs to try and make her not sad, but that made Mother cry. A lot of things made Mother cry. I knew I was supposed to be sad too, but I did not cry. I loved my father and I loved my brother but I knew they were together. I thought it was so that they could get close like Father and I were; just like Mother and I could get close like her and Hroar. When I told her this, she hugged me.

Mother came back a few moments later, and handed me some taffy. I let go of Lydia to take it, and followed Mother once more.

Our home was in a nice little crook in a corner of the city.  _Honeyside_  my mother called it. It was perhaps the only actually pretty thing in the city, including its people. It was very small, much smaller than Proudspire Manor, though I suppose there are many things I learned to love about it.

The first time I saw the small garden at the side of the house, I must say I was disappointed. It was small, and not much to look at. As I reached for a flower with purple petals, Lydia slapped my hand away. "Don't touch those, any of them," she instructed me. Hroar would have asked why. Instead, I nodded, and followed Mother inside. The first room we entered had a small, square wooden table, a cooking hearth, and shelves cluttered with food and utensils. Past the hearth was a balcony door which led to the outside of Riften. Past that was another room; Mother's room I presumed. To the right of her bed chamber was a stairway leading to the basement. I descended it, the wood creaking beneath my feet.

My bedroom was much smaller than the one I had in Solitude. This one had a square shape and stone walls, with a single elegantly framed bed filling the majority of the left wall. I had a chest, a bookshelf, a wardrobe and a practice dummy. I had shelves as well, but they were empty. I placed my doll on the lowest of the shelves and I hoped one day she wouldn't be lonely.

I shut the door behind me and sighed.

* * *

"Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you're carrying, eh lass?" the man with the Red hair and funny accent said, looking at Mother, with that strange look he'd given her days before.

It had been a few days since we'd moved in, and Mother and I were visiting the Bazaar to purchase food and books for my bookshelf. It was surprisingly sunny though the air was cold and dry. Mother frowned at the man, gripping onto my small hand a little tighter.

"I'm sorry, what?" she said, putting her free hand on her hip.

"I'm saying you've got the coin but you didn't earn a Septim of it honestly." The man smirked, not breaking from the hard glare Mother was sending his way. "I can tell."

"My wealth is none of your business," Mother huffed.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, lass. Wealth  _is_  my business." His smirk widened into a leering grin. "Maybe you'd like a taste?" Mother cocked her brow and then looked down at me.

"Go to the temple, Loralei," she told me, letting go of my hand. I nodded and turned away, hearing her ask the man, "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

The Temple was another one of Riften's strange places, and the first thing I thought of when I entered was of Rorlund. I tried to imagine him being in a place like this but somehow it didn't fit. The Head Priest, Maramal was something completely different than Rorlund. He was Redguard for one, and wore a hooded Monk cloak, which shielded most of his dark face.

As I walked in, the soles of my shoes clanking against the wood, I listened with the rest of the room to his sermon.

"Mara, Goddess of Love, patron of the bountiful earth, and source of moral compassion and understanding," Maramal began. "Nearly revered as a universal goddess, her origins are in mythic times as a fertility goddess."

I took my seat next to another one of the Temple's priestesses, feeling comfort next to her. Maramal's sermon was shorter than I thought it would be, but nonetheless uplifting. When he was finished and the citizens of Riften began to disperse, I turned to the priestess I'd sat next to.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm a priestess here at the Temple." The lady with the dark skin began.

"I am Loralei, daughter of Onmund and Elaira."

"Lady Mara bids you welcome." I smiled to her. "What is it you seek, my child?"

"My mother told me to come here," I told her.

"A wise Mother she is, leading you on the path to Mara," the priestess said. "I am to be a mother soon as well." My eyes widened.

"A baby?" I exhaled. The priestess nodded. "I've never met a baby!" The Priestess giggled and placed a hand on her stomach.

"I pray to Mara each morning and each night my child my grow to term."

"I'll pray for you too," I told her with a grin.

"Who is this?" The familiar voice of Maramal asked.

"This is Loralei, daughter of Onmund and Elaira," The priestess said with a warm smile. Maramal raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Onmund and Elaira are your mother and father?" I nodded. Maramal smiled and knelt down. "I initiated their wedding, right here in this Temple, almost ten years ago,"

"Wow," I let out in an exasperated sigh. "That's a long time ago." Maramal chuckled and I returned his gleeful smile. I turned to look at the Priestess to see she was smiling as well, her hand still placed on her belly.

* * *

As the weeks went on, my days became routine, as did Mother's. I would wake up every morn at seven and break my fast with Lydia and Mother. We would eat in silence, exchanging few courteous words in feeble attempts at small talk. It was the fifth of Sun's Dawn, and Mother had decided to cook us our meal. She'd made us eggs with pork strips and buttered breakfast cakes. It was simple, and not nearly as decadent as Lydia could have done it, but we all knew Mother was no cook. She'd done it perhaps as a silent thank you to Lydia, who had helped us with our loss, a loss of her own.

"I like the cakes, Mama," I complimented, only receiving a soft smile from Mother who did not meet my eyes.

"Thank you. Loralei, but never give a compliment for only the sake of pleasing," Mother told me. "If people's words are not true, then what good can they be?"

"Sorry Mama," I said. I had only meant for her to feel nice, I did not know why she would not just accept my words.

"You can apologize, but you are not sorry," she told me. We ate the rest of our meal in silence. When we were finished, Lydia took our plates and left to go clean them. "Loralei, are you ready?" I nodded. This was part of our routine now. Mother would take me to the Bazaar for the morning. I did enjoy it there, as I had grown fond of the vendors.

The first time I laid eyes on Marise, she'd frightened me. Her eyes were the colour of blood, and her skin few shades darker than the blue-grey of the sky. Her voice was hoarse and accented and I did not want to approach her. However, one day, as I sat on a barrel while I waited for Mother, I watched her. A man with dark skin approached her with a nervous smile. She smiled back at him. It was not a pretty smile, but neither was it menacing. Perhaps the dark man thought it pretty.

"Hi Marise, how are you today?" The dark man asked, albeit a little nervously.

"I'm well," she began, her awkward smile growing slightly more relaxed. "How are things over at the stables? Is Hofgrir giving you a hard time?"

"Nah…he's fine." He smiled cheekily, comfortable, before hesitating for a moment. "Look, I wanted to ask if you'll… um, if you'd like to… well, like to have a drink with me at the Bee and Barb some time?"

"Shadr, that's so sweet." Her smile widened until I don't think I could go any more. "I'd love to."

I smiled as he walked away, a goofy grin meeting his face. Marise noticed me looking as she turned to me and froze. "You know kid, you really should not eavesdrop." At first I felt fright once more, but then Marise let out a childishly girlish giggle, and I met it with a smile.

Madesi was a strange looking thing, a creature I'd never seen before. I asked him why he looked so funny. When Mother heard me ask that she hit me on the back of the head and told me not to be rude, however Madesi merely laughed.

"I am but an Argonian, with the finest Argonian baubles in all of Skyrim." Mother did not laugh, but I saw a hint of a smile grace her lips, and that was enough to fill me with joy.

The vendors, even the mean lady, Grelka, had grown used to my morning presence and I enjoyed it there at the Bazaar. I'd grown used to the vendors' voices, and I'd come to memorize their faces. This day was not particularly different, with people walking aimlessly around the market stalls, buying things here and there. The air was still cold and dry from winter, and there was a light snow falling from the nowwhite sky. As Mother and I walked around, sometimes chatting, sometimes just looking, I could hear the rhythmic hammering of the anvil. I had grown to find comfort in its rhythm, and the hammer kissing steel played like a song echoing in a strange melody from all the corners and crooks in Riften.

I had yet to meet the blacksmith, since Mother told me he was always busy, but sometimes his song would stop and he and Mother would smile and wave from afar. On that non-peculiar day, I decided to approach the man. He was strong as an ox and as big as one too. He seemed young with a handsome face and thick blond hair which was pulled away from his eyes. Sweat trickled down his face and down his closely trimmed beard as he bore a look of hard concentration.

It took him a moment to notice me standing there. When he looked up and lowered his hammer, I realised that he was not as young as I thought he was. There were soft lines near his mouth and in the corner of his eyes, which I realised were the colour of the Riften sky. "You shouldn't stand so close to the forge, kid," he said; his voice low like a growl.

"I'm sorry, mister." I turned to walk away, my cheeks growing red with embarrassment.

"Wait—" he called. "What's your name?" I turned, my head lowered slightly.

"Loralei," I told him.

"I'm Balimund. Where are your parents?" I fidgeted with my dress as I looked back up at his face.

"Mama's at the market," I told him. He looked past me for a moment, and then smiled. He raised his hand and waved, his grey eyes glinted as I presumed Mother waved back.

"That's some mother you got there." I looked to where he looked, to see Mother lowering her hand. Her red hair vibrated against the dullness of the colours around her and she smiled as she returned to speaking with Brand-Shei, who had just been released from prison a few days prior. "Hey, kid." I looked back at the blacksmith. "Tell your mom we ought to all have dinner some time." I grinned at him and scurried back to Mother.

After our morning at the stalls, Mother walked me to the Temple of Mara, and kissed me on the cheek. "Be good. And when you go home, stop at the smithy and tell Balimund that he and his son should visit us for supper." I hugged Mother and proceeded into the Temple like the day before.

* * *

It had been a few months now, a few weeks until mine and Hroar's name day, and although I had found a certain company with the adults around Riften, and even Balimund's adoptive son, I felt lonely. In Solitude I had had many friends. I always had Hroar and even Svari and Kayd. We would play tag and hide-and-seek and waste our days away. In Riften, my only friend seemed to be Asbjorn, who Mother and I had been seeing more and more frequently. He was sixteen, and his Naming Ceremony was coming up in a days. We oft sat in his and Balimund's home, and drank warm drinks. Asbjorn was a funny boy, with a nice smile.

"Did you know your real parents?" I asked him, silently sipping on my drink. I snuggled into my blanket while he thought for a moment.

"Grelod said my ma and da left me at the Honorhall Orphanage here in Riften when I was just a baby… she said that… that they didn't want me." He took a long drink from his cup, and looked at me. "But Balimund is the greatest man I have ever known. He took me in and had been so kind to me." He paused again to take another sip as he stared at the fire; the dancing flames stirring in his blue eyes. "I don't know why, but he thinks I can be a great blacksmith like him. At first… at first I didn't know why he picked me. I never even held a hammer in my life! But…" He looked at me and smirked, a peculiar twinkle in his eye. "But the first time I picked up that hammer… it just felt so right.

"Folks in town say that Balimund is the greatest blacksmith in all of Tamriel. I hope I can live up to that someday… and make him proud of me… you know?" He laughed at himself. "Sometimes I forget you're just six."

Neither of us said a word for a few minutes, only finishing our cups. "I think my Mama likes your Pa…" I said. I don't know why I said it, or even if I understood the implications myself, but it came out.

"They're old friends you know… I'm not sure how they knew each other but they did. Balimund has said much about your mother," Ansbjorn told me, setting down his cup and laying back.

"What has Balimund said?" I asked, resting my head on my elbows.

"He told me that your mother has never known her birth parents… like me."

"Mama was an orphan?" I asked, frowning.

"Not quite. Your mother was raised in an Altmer family along the Summerset Isles. Father said she spoke often of her older brothers… she had four."

"I used to have a brother."

* * *

"Fire-Tamer," Maramal pronounced as the entire town erupted into cheers.

* * *

When Ansbjorn Fire-Tamer had left Riften to apprentice at the SkyForge, I found myself lonely once more. Lydia, Mother and even Balimund had tried very hard to make me, happy but I did not feel it.

On my name day, it all became much worse. I never thought that I would miss sharing that day with Hroar, but it's the most peculiar feeling when you no longer have anyone to share a Name wish. I missed Hroar's voice and how each year on this day he would so happily proclaim, "I'll still be forever older than you." He was wrong of course, as we would never be the same age ever again. Hroar would not get to turn seven. He would never receive a Ceremony of his own. He would never know his true name.

* * *

When summer came, many things began to calm. The sky of Riften began to look just slightly less grey, and I could walk outside in my pretty dresses. The chest in my once-empty room was stuffed to the brim in stuff I'd collected from around the city. When Mother came home from her little trips around Skyrim for her work with the red-haired man, I would take something pretty from the chest and give it to her. Lately, Mother had been giving me many beautiful things, which now decorated and overfilled my bedroom. Among these beautiful things had been a book with a pretty brown leather cover. It had been worn, but it was still beautiful. 'Beggar' Mother told me was its name.

I could not read it yet, so I had asked the Priestess, who's belly had continued to grow, to teach me.

"All right," she began. "Would you like to start from the beginning or should we continue on from where we left?" I opened my book to the first page.

"From the start." I smiled.

"All right, you know this part well, you should read." I nodded and began.

" _Eslaf Erol was the last of the litter born of five born to the Queen…_ "

* * *

The child was born on the 25th of Last Seed, three days before my mother's 32nd. I met the child only hours after she was born. "What's her name?" I asked, gently touching her pointed ears.

"Evesa," Maramal told me. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" I nodded, afraid to touch the tiny being.

"She's so small," I said, moving my hand away from her ear. She had her Mother's ears, and her Mother's skin, but when Evesa opened her eyes, she was all Maramal.

I placed the blue flower I'd been holding in my hand on the bed, and smiled.

"Thank you for letting me meet her," I said. Maramal and the priestess chuckled.

"Of course, Loralei," said Maramal, "We adore you, as we know Evesa will come to." Maramal kissed the top of my head.

* * *

For Mother's 32nd birthday, she and Balimund went away, but she told me she would be back. I did not mind of course, since Mother seemed happy, and I still had Lydia. Together, we read  _Beggar_. It was the first time I'd read it through all by myself.

* * *

On the 30th of Frostfall, I met Runa for the first time. It was the Emperor's birthday, and even the orphans at the Honorhall Orphanage were out to celebrate. The entirety of Riften sang songs and danced and drank, and even the Honorhall children were at the food table devouring the Sweetrolls. There was only one girl within the crowd. She was around my age, and she was beautiful. Even my seven-year-old self felt envy.

"Who are you?" she asked me. My voice caught in my throat as I tried to answer.

"I'm-I'm Loralei," I stuttered.

"Runa." She smiled. "Now dance with me!" Runa grabbed my hands and began jumping around, and I followed suite, my skirts twirling around my feet. Runa began to sing to the music playing around us. I joined her in an instant.

" _Oh! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!_ "

* * *

The months that followed were beautiful. The beginning months of 4E 203, were especially. I had been learning more and more from Maramal and the priestess, whose name I'd finally learnt. Dinya had offered to teach Runa as well, but Grelod, the scary lady that ran the orphanage refused. Instead, after my lessons I'd run over to the Orphanage and teach her what I'd learned. Runa was very smart, and she learned quickly, even with my poor teaching skills. I liked her very much. The things she said were perhaps a little rude, but they oft made me laugh, and I could only forgive her, since her upbringing differed greatly compared to mine. Grelod was a mean old lady, and I often saw the Orphans with scars and bruises, which I was certain were given by her wrinkled hand.

The other lady that took care of the Children was much different than Grelod, but she said nothing, not ever. I tried not to blame her, because I could tell even she was scared of Grelod, but sometimes even my happy Runa would be too run down to see me, and Constance could only look on guiltily.

I tried seeing Runa every day, and Lydia and Maramal were happy I had made a friend, but some days Grelod would not let me in. The days that she did, she sent glares my way, and she told me that had my mother been anyone different, I would not be able to set a foot onto the property.

Once, in the early days of Morning Star, Mother and I had bought Runa a book of her own, with a simple brown leather cover with gold entwining patterns working along the sides of the cover, spine, and back. The pages were thick and the font curvy and readable. Mother had told me it was the first book she'd ever received, and I figured since I'd been teaching Runa how to read, she might love it as much as Mother.

I had walked straight into the Orphanage, Mother kissing me before she walked back home. Runa was sweeping the floors, and she looked as beautiful as ever, her scars and bruises beginning to clear. I strode over to her, Francois and the rest of the boys ignoring me.

I had wrapped a red ribbon around the book, in an attempt to make it festive. I had chosen it specially, and I wanted Runa to love it. Runa smiled up as she saw me, her eyes eventually looking to the object in my hands. I held it out to her. "Happy New Life!" I proclaimed. She beamed, and set aside the broom to take the book in both her hands.

"This is… whoa…" she said as she inspected the book, running her fingers along the gold borders.

"It's for you," I said with a smile.

"For… me?" she asked, looking up from the book with unsure eyes. I nodded excitedly. Runa beamed and jumped onto me. We both fell to the floor giggling. A silhouette peered over us. I looked up. It was Grelod. With her wrinkly old hands, she snatched the book from Runa, leaving her slightly staggered. Looking up at Grelod from the floor seemed like looking up to a giant, snarling and ready to tear apart anything in its way.

"What's this you have here?" she asked, sneering.

"A book," I answered; my small voice shaky. Her head snapped my way.

"I know what it is! Do you think I'm a fool?!" she sneered, looking at Runa now, who for the first time ever looked frightened. "Is this _yours_?" Runa nodded, looking as though she wanted to run away from the scary old bat that stood in front of us. Grelod laughed now, throwing her head back, her ugly thin hair falling faintly from her bun. Looking behind her, Grelod tossed the book, still tied up with the pretty ribbon I had chosen with Mother, into the flames which heated the old and battered cooking pot. "It isn't as if you could read it anyway," she said, grabbing the broom Runa had just previously set aside. Grelod sneered once more and threw it at Runa, who was still on the ground. The broom hit her on the side of her forehead. I clattered beside her, and she brought her hand up to caress her head. "Clean up your mess, you filthy child," Grelod said before turning to me. "And you. Get out." I stood up, and looked over at Runa who had her head bowed, sweeping the floors once again. I looked at the remains of that pretty book crumpling in the fire, before I walked out. My eyes locked with Constance as I strode to the door.

* * *

"Do you love Mommy?" Balimund laughed, tying on his apron. It was a sunny day, especially for Riften, and sweat ran down Balimund's face. It was especially hot near his old forge, and I wore a sundress, even this early in the year. It was the twentieth of First Seed to be exact. The snow had cleared completely and I could see the beginning bloom in our garden.

"Don't ask stupid questions," he began; a smile still on his face as he sat down at the anvil. I huffed and responded,

"The priestess Dinya says there are no stupid questions." He laughed in return, still looking at me with those grey eyes of his.

"You shouldn't believe everything people tell you," he told me, picking up a hammer and some metal. "Trust is not forgiving, not here."

"In Riften?" I offered.

"In Tamriel," he said, hammering away.

* * *

On my eighth, I felt a little less lonely than my seventh, as Runa was allowed to eat with me. Lydia had made me all of my favourite foods, and they made up a pile on the table. Runa and I devoured it entirely, as Mother and Lydia played some songs together. I received many gifts that I offered to share with Runa. However, she declined, telling me that the food was more than enough. After eating our morning away, we played in the streets, collecting the pretty flowers we found hidden away in Riften's shadows. Among the dozens we found, rested a single flower with petals tainted Blue.

I brought it to Mother when Runa went back, and though she accepted it with a smile, she'd quickly run to her room, closing the door behind her. Silently, I made my way down to my own, thinking of crowns made of flowers and a brother who painted them Blue.

* * *

"Grelod is dead," Runa told me. "Constance told us she died in her sleep!" I smiled. Father and Lydia told both Hroar and I than any death is a sad one, and that all lives should be cherished and respected. But no one will ever miss Grelod.

* * *

Summer came quicker than I thought it would, and everything seemed quite happy. I spent my days playing with Runa, and even sometimes Francois, who seemed a little bit nicer than the other orphan boys. Sometimes Runa and I would attend the Temple together and play with Evesa, who had grown bigger and faster than I thought possible. Mother too seemed happier than I'd ever seen her since Hroar and Father joined Ysgramor. Sometimes, I could see a ghost of a memory flash through her green eyes, but before I could say anything or even react, it was gone.

I still missed my father and my brother ferociously and each day I would pray for their happiness in Sovngarde. I loved them, and to this day I still do. But I had long accepted that their journey would differ from mine until one day we could meet once more, and together we could be as we were supposed to.

Sometimes I thought that perhaps in another life, Father and Hroar would have never perished, and I would still call Hroar names and fight over Critter. Mayhap in this life, Father would have taught me magic, and Mother would have taught Hroar how to wield a bow. In this life, when Hroar and I were grown, Father would put a Crown of Blue on my head, and walk me down the aisle as Hroar and his pregnant wife would watch next to Mother, still clad in her black armour. In this life, Hroar and I would be neighbours, never too far from one another, and our children would grow up like brothers and sisters rather than the cousins they were. In this life, we would die old and be buried in the Solitude cemetery, not as boy and old lady, but as old siblings, sharing not only the 28th of Rain's Hand, but everything in between.

It took me a lifetime, but I learned that this wasn't my life. It wasn't the reality of what was. It broke me, but my destiny was to move on, and to forgive those unforgiving Gods. Perhaps it was Mother's as well, but she was never one who followed the rules.

* * *

Before I knew it, it was the spring of 4E 204, and I sat in the Temple of Mara in a pretty new dress. "It was Mara who first gave birth to all of creation," Maramal began, his hands in the air in ceremonial prayer, "and pledged to watch over us as all her children. It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learned that a life lived alone is no life at all."

Mother looked beautiful, her curly hair falling freely over her shoulders. She wore a long white gown, adorned with blue lining. She wore on her head not a crown of Blue Flowers, but a circlet, made of silver and stones of blue sapphire. Her lips were pale and her cheeks lightly freckled. Painted on her was war paint the colour of onyx, her green eyes shining brighter than ever.

"We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and in the next in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship." Maramal looked from my beautiful mother to Balimund, whose face looked as beautiful as I'd ever seen it. "Do you agree to be bound together, now and forever?"

Balimund looked at Mother, his stare hard and strange like all of the things I'd come to love in Riften. Mother stared right back, her gaze harder than even his and hard as it had always been.

"I do," Balimund rasped like an aria. "Now and forever."

Mother chuckled, the hardness of her eyes changing to wetness. I saw Balimund's mouth quirk up as well, though he had no tears. Still, I could see his eyes soften as Mother said the words we all waited for.

"I do," Mother laughed once more. "Now and forever." They exchanged their favours, which were two Ebony daggers, one red and one green. As they leaned in to lock their mouths and the vows they swore, I closed my eyes.

At the celebration, the people attending went to congratulate Mother, though one remained at the food tables, drinking from his half-empty bottle of ale. My eyes locked with the green of his, but only for a moment as he ran a hand through his red hair and turned around.

Runa grabbed my hands and together we danced like the day we first met, our song sung like it should be.

" _OH! There once was a hero name Ragnar the Red!_ "

* * *


	3. The memory of the righteous

My memories are carved into the crevasses of my brain to near perfection. I can remember the moments of my life as if I am reliving them. I remember everything; I see everything. I can see the shape of each looming cloud, resting calmly in the sky and the soft freckles of my mother's face. I see the always unfamiliar cracks in the cobblestone ground and the rhythm of the breezes. I can remember the cracking of the fire heating and boiling stew in the cooking pot. I remember the lyrics of each of Balimund's soft songs as he stirred our supper. I remember everything.

I recall my third name day as if it were yesterday. It was a particularly warm day in Rain's Hand, and the flowers were already beginning to bloom big and bright. We'd spent many days during that month lounging in the garden and picking the most beautiful flowers. Bees had begun to arrive around Solitude and our garden homed many, their soft buzzes carrying from one flower to the next. All around us was peace and play as Hroar and I sat in the soil, making small dirt castles and naming the blooms. On our name day, we woke up in the same bed, cuddled closely. I woke before Hroar, feeling excitement in my chest. His steady breath was heavy, and drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. "Brother," I whispered leaning close to his face. He did not stir until I gently cupped the side of his face. Slowly his eyes fluttered open.

"Where's Momma?" he yawned, pulling his body up with all his strength. I shrugged, and hopped off my bed with a thump and nearly falling over. I helped Hroar off the bed, being the larger of us. We made our way to our mother's bedroom and knocked on the door. Father answered with a small smile.

"Good morning." He opened the door and we ran over to mother who looked up from her book. Her red locks were dishevelled and loose around her shoulders. Her face was flushed, the freckles dotting her face standing out more prominently. She wore a soft night shirt made of fine white cotton, and never had I seen her look quite so pure.

"Happy nameday, children." She planted kisses on our cheeks, and called over Lydia to dress us.

Lydia had spent the entire morning baking us many treats, including sweet rolls, taffy and lemon cakes. She had even made Hroar and I each our own cakes. They were no bigger than half a sweet roll, but to us, it was the most amazing treat we'd ever received.

Mine was beautiful, a cake covered in white icing and purple flowers. The inside was red and tasted of chocolate. It was creamy and sweet. I shared my cake with Mother and Father. Though I offered Lydia a piece, she declined and told us she did not eat sweets. Hroar asked her why, though I did not pay care to the answer. Hroar kept his treat all to himself. His cake was a dark brown, made completely of chocolate. It was decorated with a single blue flower, to which he handed to Mother.

We played the rest of our day outside with the other children. In the evening we opened our gifts and sang songs.

* * *

I remember our fourth birthday and our fifth as well. I remember our sixth and I remember my seventh. I could still tell you each and every tale that was read to me before bed, each word as it was told. I remember the exact shade of gold of my father's hair, and I could describe to you his throaty laugh, which had never failed to calm me. I remember him, and I shan't ever forget.

I remember Lydia, and everything about her. I remember the shape of her jaw and how softly it would curve into her pointed chin. I remember the cloudy grey of her eyes which was always slightly brighter than the grey sky of Riften. I remember even her sword. It wasn't beautiful and I never felt love for it. It was made of steel and forged in fire. It was basic and plainlooking, and much more forgiving than mother's bow, but I can still remember the way Lydia's hand could always find its pommel, an instinct which never left her.

I remember a bow, the blackest I'd ever seen. My mother had always loved her bow. It was black, and long and beautiful. More than that, it was terrifying. Its intricate engraved curves were sharp and poisonous. It always seemed to burn and singe everything and everyone brave enough to look or touch it. I'd seen her wield it just once, but I could still imagine the way she would pull it from its place and time would stop. I could imagine how her nimble fingers would tightly grasp it, never too hard and never too loosely. I never wanted to see her bow leave its spot on her back. It held too much power, too many memories. Too many souls it had stolen from the living.

Hroar had asked her once to teach him how to shoot an arrow, but she had shooken her head and told him, "Hroar, you're not a warrior." I knew she was right. He wasn't a warrior, not a soldier nor even a thief. He could never be a leader or mercenary. He'd asked too many questions and he had too many dreams that could be so easily broken. Perhaps one day he could've been a father or a farmer, maybe a merchant, but Mother, Father as well as I knew that Hroar did not have the secret calm or the strength to fight in battle. But when Hroar did not argue, I felt pity for the boy who did not know who or what he was meant to be. I suppose it wouldn't matter.

* * *

The times I saw my mother throughout 4E 204 and 4E 205, I saw her with her bow, in armor I did not recognise. Her black, sharp armor made of ebony had been traded for leather. Her helm was traded for a hood. I questioned it at first, only in my head, but somehow it suited her well. I believe she felt it was right as well. I saw her each day, always with a smile on her face. I had found that she and Balimund were very happy together, living with me in Honeyside. The hours every day we all spent together were the happiest for me as well. Runa would join us when she could, and it was like I had rediscovered a family. It really was a family I could have belonged to.

Balimund was good to me, and the times I was not at the Temple or with Runa, I was with him, sitting by his forge. I had grown accustomed to the warmth of the forge, the 'Heart' as Balimund called it. I grew to love Balimund as if he really was my father. I loved him for my own, just as I hoped he loved me. I will forever love Onmund, who was my first father, but he was gone before I even understood anything. There is no doubt in my mind that he was my father, but I could not stand there and pretend that the men I came to know and love; the men that raised me were not my fathers as well.

I admit that these words are treacherous to my own blood, but in a world like this, blood means only war and at its essence, family means only love.

And Balimund loved me.

There was a time in late 4E 204 when I sat on a barrel, waiting for my mother. Balimund was somewhere nearby. The market stalls were quite empty, and a chill wisped through the air. It was a chill unfamiliar to even Riften, whose walls were even cooler that the mountains. A beggar whose name I never knew came up to me. He was wrinkled and pale, on the brink of death. I felt pity for him, and would have offered him a coin, for it not the look in his dark eyes.

"You're a pretty girl," he said. His lack of teeth made his words lisped. "It's a cold day today… how bout we warm each other," he snarled. My heart skipped a beat. I had no idea what he meant but something within me told me that he was a very bad man. I backed up on my barrel until I leaned against a wall. He leaned in closer, his breath smelling strongly of week old ale and remains. His old face was only inches from mine and I could only flinch away.

"Runa, is this man bothering you?" Balimund had appeared behind the beggar and had managed to shove him away. I felt scared and cold. My eyes searched around for my mother, but she was nowhere to be found. Looking back at Balimund without meeting his eye, I nodded. He turned to the beggar and shoved him until he hit the ground. "You stay away from my kid, you hear me?" The beggar scurried away as Balimund helped me off the barrel. He took me by his rough hand and led me back to Honeyside. "If any bum like that ever comes up to you ever again, then you call for me, do you understand?"

I nodded, relief passing through my body as we walked through the door of our home.

* * *

4E 205 started out as a calm year, with snow falling from the night sky as the people of Riften danced around for the New Year. It had been a sweet celebration, with soft smiles among some people's faces and soft grimaces on others'. The air was chillier than it was last year, but I did not mind. Balimund seemed very joyful as he danced and sung with a smile that could cure the world. Mother danced with him, and it was obvious that dances were not either of their strong suits, but it they seemed happy and drunk, and that was all that mattered.

Runa and I stood by the snack table, with Francois who ate quite daintily, especially for a boy.

"Hi," he said to me a sly grin on his young face. Curly brown hair fell carelessly around his ears.

"Hello," I responded, my face turning red despite myself.

"How's that taffy?" he asked me calmly, his grin widening, revealing two large front teeth and a wide gap between. Deepening my blush, I opened my mouth to answer as Runa grunted.

"Lorie! I wanna dance before it gets late and Mistress Constance makes us go to bed!" I looked from her to Francois as she tugged at my arm. As I was about to go with her, Francois gently touched my hand.

"Dancing sounds like fun," he told me, bright eyed. "Would you care to?"

Sending a guilty look at Runa, I agreed. She huffed and crossed her arms as Francois and I danced the night away.

She got over it, dancing away with Martin and Constance, but I was too happy to even notice. My heart fluttered as I jumped around with Francois, but I couldn't help but see as he snuck glances to the girl with the pretty blond hair.

* * *

"Where's Mother?" I asked. Balimund shrugged and bit into his bread.

"Work… who knows," he said lightly, food still in his mouth.

"But I made dinner," I said, deflated.

"Don't worry, Lor," he began, swallowing. "Look, it's snowing… she probably got held back." I nodded solemnly looking out the window. The snow was beginning to pile very heavily.

* * *

The winter was harsh that year, and I was forced to stay inside. I did not see Runa for weeks at a time, but I had the company of Balimund, Lydia and my mother. We played games and read books and told stories of past lives and gods and of times that were somehow now funny. We ate what we had and missed what we didn't. I looked longingly out the frosted window to a white city. I never thought I'd miss those grey skies.

* * *

In the middle of that long hard winter, there were three days of little warmth, and Lydia walked me over to the Orphanage. Runa greeted me with a tackle hug, to which I reciprocated with fits of giggles. After we greeted one another, I glanced around the room. "Where's Francois?" I asked Constance. She pouted slightly, folding her hands together.

"He is very ill," she told me solemnly.

"Ill?" Lydia asked. Constance nodded.

"Kayd is sick too," Runa added, looking at Lydia.

"Well, Runa can't stay here," Lydia announced. I frowned, exchanging a look with Runa. "Runa should come and stay with us until spring." Runa beamed excitedly, as Constance smiled and agreed.

* * *

"What is it you want to be when you're older?" I asked Runa one evening, as we sat on the floor of the basement. She took a bite of her taffy before answering.

"I'm going to be a bard," she stated, taking another bite. "This stuff is good," she mumbled, still chewing. I giggled and leaned against one arm.

"Me too," I said. "You know, my mom got me a flute once." She lit up, a smile crawling across her face.

"Really?! We need to go play it!" Runa hopped up and took my hand, dragging me towards my room.

* * *

"You're doing it wrong!" Runa exclaimed. "That isn't what it's supposed to sound like!" I flushed and handed the flute to her. Runa took her turn, making the worst sound I'd ever heard in my life. After an irritated huff she giggled, and I followed suite.

"Okay, maybe we're not so good at this."

"Probably not," I replied with a sigh.

"Don't worry though Lorie," Runa said, patting my shoulder. "We are smart women, and one day we're going to be the best bards ever." I began to respond, but I was interrupted by my door opening.

"What is that awful racket?" Balimund demanded; his hand still on the knob.

"We're talented women bards," I said. I didn't understand why, but Balimund exploded with laughter once he saw the flute in Runa's hand. After calming down for a minute, he told us,

"A flute ain't a real instrument."

"But it's what we have," Runa said, slumping down.

"Wait here one second," Balimund said, before coming back with a lute in his hand. "Ready to make some real music?" Both Runa and I nodded excitedly.

* * *

I was good I suppose, and I seemed to have charmed the people who heard me play, but I was in no comparison to how well Runa could sing and play. Learning the lute was not as easy as I suspected, and it took many months and patience on all of our parts to learn, but somehow Runa and I managed. Runa had a gift, it was obvious. She had learned the flute far faster and with more skill than I could ever find, and I was in complete awe. Her fingers learned to grace each instrument as if it was an extension of her own body. I wanted to listen to her music all the time, and it was obvious she realised her talent as well.

"See how great that was, Loralei? One day you'll be able to play like me too!" she'd tell me with a grin. Most times I did not mind, and I still believe to this day that she meant well. Balimund was not one to sugar coat either, so Runa's playing oft came with more praise than mine.

By spring 4E 205, with the snow frosting the cobbled paths of Riften, we had learned many songs, and many times each week we would play and practice. Maramal would sometimes hear me play when Runa and Balimund were away, and each time he would tap me on the nose and say, "It was excellent, my dear," and every time I would smile at him and my cheeks would turn red.

* * *

We played for the whole town once, Runa and me. We were ecstatic. We'd been practicing nonstop for our performance. We even practiced our bows and curtsies for the everloving audience. I was nervous, of course, as we'd never played in front of many people. I most excited to see my mother, who had told me the last time I saw her a few days passed that she was excited to see us perform. After Maramal's sermon on the 3rd of Rain's Hand, he introduced us, glee in his eyes.

"Now, as I finish my sermon, I must introduce to you Runa, and my dearest Loralei, who will play before you and before the eyes of Mara, a song special to us all."

Balimund, who sat on my left, nudged me forward. Runa grabbed my hand and dragged me to the front of the Temple. As Runa told the crowd the song we would play, I glanced around the room. The temple was full, only a few spaces between strangers left unfilled. I searched for my mother. Keerava and her fiancé sat in the front, next to Dinya. Sadr sat at the back with his elven maiden. Lydia beamed at us from her seat in the second row, her hair braided nicely for the sermon. All around the room I saw faces of the people I had come to know and love, but amongst none of them was my mother.

"Lorie," Runa whispered. I looked at her. She had her lute in her hands. I nodded at her, and picked up mine, feeling pressure in my chest.

" _Oh! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…_ "

* * *

The crowd had loved our music. The tempo was right, and our voices mused the other. We were in complete and utter unison. We were one with our music, and the entire crowd cheered for us. I saw how proud Lydia was, how proud Dinya was. I'd almost never seen Maramal smile brighter. We were perfect. Balimund told us so. If he were anyone else, I swear he would have cried. Runa was proud too. I could see it in the way she held her pretty face just a little higher, how her bow was low to the applause and how she smirked as we took our praise. I figured I should have felt the same as well. Instead, I let Balimund take me home, wordless as he gave me praise. I went to my bedroom as Balimund made supper, and held my dolly close as I rested my head on my pillow.

Many times I tried to convince myself that my mother had a reason. There was a reason that she did not come to see my performance. There was a reason why she did not come home for supper every night like she did when they first married. There must have been a reason for her long, loud arguments with Balimund, on the few days she did come home. There was a reason that she smiled less and less at home as the year ended and more and more at the man with the red hair. There had to have been some reason, some excuse that I did not understand that in those days, she looked at me less and less, and looked at Balimund no longer.

* * *

"What's wrong Loralei?" Balimund asked me, kneeling at my bed as I tried to cover my face. I could not see his, but I could only imagine his expression. Thick eyebrows scrunched together, his mouth slightly agape.

"Mommy… she didn't hear me sing."

* * *

When she came home that night, I heard him shout at her. I found that after that night, she looked at  _me_  no more.

* * *

I found a moment of happiness on my tenth name day as my mother came home and promised to take the whole week off. Runa, Lydia and I spent the entire 27th baking a giant cake for the whole town of Riften to share. It took the entire day, and by the end Runa and I were happily exhausted, even though Lydia did most of the work. It came out beautifully, though some parts may have been questionable due to Runa's 'adventurousness'. It was large, with 10 tiers, each representing one year of my life. Momma cried at them, because on the first layer, there were two figures holding hands dancing in the rain.

On the day of my birthday, the entire town celebrated with me and even the boys from the orphanage were very nice. We smiled and danced like it was the New Life, and Runa and I performed a song for the crowd. I felt my heart swell as my mother wiped her tears and ran to me with an embrace. When it began to rain, Mother and Lydia brought the food into the Bee and Barb where the remainder of the celebration would take place.

Before the celebration ended, Francois kissed me on the cheek and whispered, "Good wishes Loralei." My heart pounded in my chest and the blood rushed to my face. I nodded and ran to Runa who laughed when I told her what happened.

Runa drifted into sleep before me, but I could not find it. I got out of my bed and fell to my knees in prayer. "Happy birthday, Hroar. I miss you," I whispered to who knows who. It started as a happy prayer, a secret traditional, but after a moment's hesitation it was lost. "I know that prayers are meant for the gods, but…" I shook my head and got into bed. Who was I kidding? Not even Runa who slept beside me could hear my prayers.

* * *

Once again I tried to find comfort in the Temple, a place where I had always found home, but as days passed and I listened to Maramal's speech, I found no comfort. The speeches were all the same, laced together with words that only changed to form the illusion of progress. They painted the false image that the gods were ever-changing, along with life and with you. But it wasn't true. If there were gods, then they did not do their jobs well. If they truly did, war would not exist. Sickness would not exist. Death, age and monsters would all be fantasies. Fathers would stay, and mothers would love their children. Blue mountain flowers would never perish and Hroar and Father would still be with me.

* * *

I spent many days with Runa and Evesa. We would play with her after Maramal's sermon, and I would teach her to read. We attempted to teach the child the lute, but she showed no interest. It frustrated Runa greatly, but I did not mind. Not everyone needed to find love in music.

Evesa grew more beautiful with each day. Though she was young, she seemed old. Perhaps age only came with spirit; I did not know. What I did know was that she learned reading and writing faster than I, and much faster than Runa. And though she was a silent child, she questioned much. She went as far as questioning her own faith. She was still very young and perhaps that was a contributing factor, but once, after one of Maramal's sermons she said, "But what if there is no Mara?" When Maramal placed his hands on her shoulders and knelt to her height, I felt pity as he told her, "Do not question the truth. The divines may condemn you my child."

* * *

"I don't know," Runa answered, aiding me in picking the lettuce from our garden. "Do you?"

"I don't know either." I told her. "I never questioned it though, when I was younger. My father believed in the nine, my mother the religion of the Altmer. But to me there were eight divines, and they all loved me and protected me… I just-"

"Does it matter?" Runa interrupted, leaving me slightly agape. I remained silent, placing more lettuces in the wheelbarrow.

* * *

Summer came and I was grateful for the rare sunny days. I would oft sit by the well in the bazaar and watch everything around me. I don't know when I became an observer, but somehow I found peace in it. It was a peace that I once found at the temple; a peace I'd once found in my father's arms. Runa had tried sitting with me once. She tried her best to make conversations. At first I attempted to respond, but as the days went on my answers became shorter and shorter until they consisted of one word and then nothing. She made other friends, as I suspected she would, and though I felt something swell within me when she played with Francois, I didn't leave my barrel.

My mother was gone the whole summer, and she'd taken Lydia with her too. They'd left because of some duties that Mother had in Solitude. I didn't ask why Mother needed Lydia, but I'm sure she had a reason. Goodbyes were drawn out, and though Balimund did not plead with mother, by the way he looked at her with question and resentment; I knew he did not trust her. Since they'd left, he hadn't been the same. His words lacked their usual snark, and his walk lacked his confident swagger. He was hot-tempered, and never had anything but criticism to say. I oft avoided him, so I wouldn't have to deal with the sourness of his mood. He would wake up early every single morning and walk over to his forge wordlessly, and work until the sun went down. I noticed that his hair was beginning to grey and the darkness under his eyes never went away. Never did I see him without a cup of ale in his hands that summer, except for when he found himself at the forge.

One sunny day in Last Seed, I sat on my barrel, calmly patching over a hole in one of my dresses. My hair, which was now past my shoulders hung loosely in a strawberry golden tangle. Lydia had taught me long ago to do my own hair, but it was always Mother who told me to pull it back. She wasn't here to tell me to do so, and even though I preferred it that way, I couldn't be bothered. I liked how it felt when the breeze would pick up and lace through the strands of my hair. The hum of the Riften bazaar was soft and buzzing, leaving me calm and steady, my stitches small and almost invisible. It was a perfect day in Riften. This day lacked only the rhythm of the anvil, as Balimund was still at the Bee and Barb, probably recovering from the night before.

A short distance away, Runa and Francois sat on a bench, far apart. Runa seemed to be ranting about something or another as she chewed ungracefully through her sweetroll. I had not spoken to either of them in at least a week. It had been Runa who came up to me, dragging a joyful Francois with her.

"What's going on with you?" she'd asked me, her tone irritated. "All you do is sit on this barrel and look at strangers! And when it rains or it's ucky you stay at home and do gods-know-what!"

"Sorry," I'd told her blankly. She had rolled her eyes and dropped Francois' hand.

"I hate it when people apologise and don't mean it!" Dramatically, she'd stomped her food and thrown back her head, blond hair flying everywhere. "Don't feed me lies!" When I'd said nothing, she continued, grabbing Francois' arm and pulling him forward. "Your complete and utter abandonment of me has forced me to play with Francois, who is, if I'm correct,  _a boy!_ " I'd just gaped for a moment, as Runa looked at me expectantly, and Francois looked between us, remarkably amused.

"S-sorry," I had managed. Runa huffed, and had stormed away, Francois trailing behind her. After that, Runa had sent frequent glances my way. A day or two after, I'd stifled a wave, but the look she gave me told me that if I wanted to say hello I needed to walk over and do so.

When Runa finished her rant, Francois grinned and told her something that must have upset her because she stormed away, not before throwing the remainder of her sweetroll at him. I watched them interact quietly from my little seat. I missed them; Runa especially, but I found that I never had much to say, much less to think about. Part of me wanted to go and play and have a laugh, but I knew that even if I walked over there, I wouldn't be able to have fun. To this day I don't know why I was like this. Perhaps I was getting too much sun, or not eating quite well enough. Mayhaps it was because I was ten, and on the brink of young adulthood. Maybe it was because I was a little girl, in a gloomy little town in the corner of my world, and simply, I felt alone.

* * *

"I have not seen you at Temple in a long while, my child," Maramal said a little later, standing next to me as I folded my now-perfected dress. Francois had gone to find Runa I guessed, and I'd gone back to my work soon after. "Is something the matter?"

"No, Maramal," I told him steadily.

"Then why do you not smile?" he inquired, gently touching my shoulder. I looked up at him, forcing my eyes wide. I gave him what he wanted: a smile that even if he tried looking closer would have never passed. He chuckled though, seemingly happy I was okay.

"Alright, Loralei." He removed his hand from my shoulder and walked away, not before turning and telling me, "Come visit at Temple. Mara requires you, as you do her,"

I tried not to scoff at his turned back.

* * *

When Mother and Lydia returned, they had grave news. The Emperor was dead, by the hand of the Dark Brotherhood.

"But I thought it was long gone?" Balimund demanded.

"It's disgusting!" Mother spat. "An organization for  _murder_!" Balimund let out a raspy laugh.

"Elaira, it's not as if you're a saint," he said to her. She raised her hand as if to strike but stopped herself middair when I spoke.

"But now that we have no High King and no Emperor, who is to lead us?"

"I don't know, Loralei, but they'd better find someone soon, because I refuse to let my family live in a place where not even the Emperor is safe." Balimund laughed once more.

"Half your family's dead, and you don't give a fuck about what's left of it," he spat. This time, Mother did strike him.

* * *

On the 30th of Frostfall, the Emperor's name day was celebrated solemnly. Green lanterns were lifted into the sky. Runa came up to me as I watched them, far from either of my parents. Her face was streaked with tears. She wasn't pretty when she cried. I took her hand, and I whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry." She nodded desperately, and fell into my arms. I listened to her shaky breath as the sky burned green.

* * *

I spent the new life celebration at the orphanage, with Francois and Runa, who'd snuck in snacks. "Why did you want to stay in here?" Francois asked us softly, biting into his chocolate.

"I didn't want to hear the music," Runa said.

"How come?" Francois inquired further.

"All the songs are sad," she told him, resting her head on my shoulder.

Just barely, either from inside my head or outside the walls, I could hear the voice of someone or another, singing and strumming to my old favourite song.

" _Oh… there once was a here named Ragnar the Red…_ "

* * *

"Here are the firesalts for your forge," Mother said, handing a pouch over to Balimund, as she packed her travel bag.

"Thank you," Balimund said, leaning for a kiss. Mother leaned away and tied up her bag, leaving Balimund agape. "How long will you be gone for?" he said, retreated; face now stone-still.

"I don't know, a few months." Mother said; picking up the weapons scattered on the floor. "Depends on how well it goes." Balimund nodded, and leaned back against the wall.

"Will you write?" he asked. Mother shook her head as she plaited her hair tightly.

"No, you know that. The boss doesn't allow that," she told him, tying her braid.

"Your boss; is he the redhaired fella, or the mean one?"

"The mean one's dead, Balimund," she responded, seemingly irritated. "I really must be off," she told him, kissing him quickly on the mouth, showing slight reluctance.

"Farewell Mother," I said after hovering for only a moment. It seemed as though she would move toward me, but instead she nodded, strands of red already falling into her face. She pulled up her hood and grabbed her bag before leaving, not looking back.

* * *

When she left, the world shifted somehow. It was subtle, but I could tell I was not the only one who felt it. Mother had left me many times before, but somehow this time it was different. I'm not sure if it was how she left or how long. I don't know if it was Balimund, who often stared emptily into nothingness. I don't know if it was Lydia who always opened her mouth to speak before closing it and turning it away. I don't know if it was me, and how I spoke almost never and stopped reading and singing. I don't know if it was Runa who tried to help but didn't know how. I don't know if it was Francois, and how I managed to smile at him.

All I know is that those few months where Mother left, I knew this family I thought I had would soon be family no more.

* * *

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Francois suggested quietly as Runa performed a song she had written. I turned to him. His hair was longer than ever, reaching his chin, curling into pretty brown tufts.

"Beautiful," I agreed, giving him a small smile. I folded my hands in my lap, and looked towards Runa. Her voice echoed around the Temple, the entire crowd completely entranced.

"You know," Francois said, never removing his eyes from Runa, "you are too." Blood rushed to my face and I looked away, embarrassed.

"W-what?" I stuttered. I felt warmth on my arm and I turned back to him. His hand was on my arm. I tried not to shake.

"You're pretty too."

"Thanks," I said, trying not to look as horrified as I felt.

* * *

"I don't think my parents are coming back for me," he said. It was raining out, the droplets clattering hard on the windows of the orphanage. Runa was talking with Constance about something or another, and Francois and I sat on her bed, waiting.

"Probably not," I said. Francois' lip quivered slightly, and I regretted my words instantly. "I mean, there's always a chance." He only snickered and looked up around the room.

"This lady came to the orphanage the other day," he began, not meeting my eyes. "She was pretty with nice black hair… an Imperial lady I think. She was nice and asked to take me… but I told her I already have a Momma."

"Oh," I said after a moment of silence.

"But maybe if she doesn't make me call her Momma, I'll go with her." He looked at me now; expectantly. He wanted me to say something. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to tell him to go with her, or that his parents would be back.

"You're leaving," was all I managed. He looked away once more, and nodded, his curls flying around his head.

* * *

He left the day before my name day. He came to say goodbye to me when I was in the Honeyside garden. He had a blue flower in his hand, and extended his arm as he walked over.

"For me?" I asked. He nodded with a smile. I took it and returned his gleeful face. He seemed happy.

"So… I'm leaving now. Ma'am is taking me to Riverwood." I nodded, looking at my mountain flower. "I already said bye to Runa… she seemed upset with me."

"She's going to miss you," I told him. He nodded and fiddled with something in his pocket. "I'll miss you too," I told him. He looked up, his eyes glassy. Francois walked over to me and we embraced tightly. It was a short hug but it was a sweet farewell. When we parted slightly, I saw contemplation pass through his expression. He had freckles, I noticed. Very light, but they were there. Our faces were very close, and our arms were still awkwardly placed around each other. I wondered if he could feel my heart, which was pounding strongly. I wondered if he could hear my breath catch and he leaned down. He planted a chaste kiss on my mouth. It was quick but it was sweet, and after lingering for just a second, we parted.

But that was not the last time I saw Francois.

* * *

When my mother came home, it was pouring out. I didn't know she was home yet and I only discovered she'd arrived after I came inside, wet from the rain. When I walked into my home, the fire was burning low, and I thought no one was home. The house was still, but its aura felt disturbed and ragged. I made my way downstairs and saw two figures sitting on the bench, far apart. Mother sat on the left. Her hair was down again, but clean and frizzy, her curls tripling the size of her head. Her face was streaked with tears, and she looked to the ground guiltily. Balimund had no tears. He never cried. Between them rested two daggers, though they gleamed no longer. Mother looked up first. They said nothing as I proceeded to my room.

This was it; the moment where it ended-the marriage, the family… that feeble sense of home. But if there was one thing that Balimund taught me, it was not to cry. So I closed the door behind me and changed my clothes, hoping that closing my eyes would make me forget.

* * *

Balimund moved out the next day.

* * *

We walked through Riften on a cold day some time after. The sky was particularly grey and my mother's skin looked pale. She was leaving again, and Lydia had her hand on my back, leading us towards the gates. I had managed not to let tears fall from my eyes but when she looked one last time at the man with the Red hair, I felt myself breaking in. She always left. She must have had reasons. But they weren't good enough.

I closed my eyes; there was nothing left to do, nothing left to think or feel. In the back of my brain, I could see just one thing-and it was blue.


	4. When the thousand years are ended

The talk of dragons arose only months after my mother left. It was the eighteenth of Last Seed and life had been progressing slowly, with only petty gossip floating around the market stalls and the war raging slowly and steadily on. The grey skies of Riften were grey as grey could be and life was as it was. The months leading up to the rise of dragons were routine. Each morning we had breakfast cake and milk, and each afternoon I attended Temple with Evesa. During the evenings I supped with Runa and we walked around the shops until it was time to go to sleep. Each night I had the same dream over and over and when I woke up I would try to forget the face that haunted it.

* * *

I tried to remind myself that she would never wait for me. I wasn't waiting for her. I wouldn't; not this time. I knew she had left, and though I never really knew why, I promised myself I wouldn't question it. I forced myself not to be reminded of Balimund's throaty laugh with each heavy clanking against steel. I forced myself not to think of all those secret glances when I passed by the red-haired man selling his false elixirs. I closed my eyes and cleared my mind when the Blue of flowers caught my eye. There was a time when Mother was everywhere. But now she was gone.

* * *

On the eighteenth, it was hot outside. The air was sticky, the humidity frizzing my hair. I was with Evesa in the temple of Mara, the both of us doing our own reading. She was absorbed in her text, flipping pages religiously, tearing into each word with her eyes. I however, could only concentrate on the conversation happening before us. They spoke in frantic whispers, but I'd grown accustomed to listening to words never meant for my ears.

"Dragons! Dragons are back, Dinya!" Maramal cried to his wife who was picking up the discarded trash from the earlier sermon. "Skyrim is no longer safe."

"Skyrim has never been safe, my love," Dinya sighed, comforting Maramal with a touch to the arm. "Have faith in the Empire."

"You  _know_  the extent of the Stormcloaks! Ulfric killed the High King! They must be behind this dragon— _situation_!" Dinya's mouth former a line and she picked up a broom, proceeding to sweep the floor.

"That was  _years_  ago, and the Stormcloaks are fools. How could they possibly have control over  _dragons_?" Maramal slumped down slightly, his face full of worry.

"Whatever it is, dragons are not a good sign. Mara save us."

* * *

On my mother's name day, I had still not heard from her. Runa and I sat in my bedroom that afternoon; she'd told me she only wanted to stay in. I believed she was avoiding one of the orphan boys. Lately she'd been receiving a lot of attention from them and I was not surprised. Her skin was glowing from the summer darkness and she oft wore her golden hair loose, left to drape across her shoulders like a curtain of smooth honey. Her once-round face was beginning to harden but her blue eyes remained the same: bright, youthful and naïve.

We were sewing. Runa was terrible at it, but she was determined to learn. Her stitches were large and crooked and her fingers were fumbly and unsteady. Runa lacked the patience and concentration to perfect this skill, but nonetheless she was proud of her 'patch', as she called it. It had started out as a change purse but she'd sewn one side too many.

"Next," she began, "I want to make a tunic."

"You hate wearing tunics," I reminded her, placing my needle aside as she dropped her own. "You said they make you feel frumpy and gross."

Picking up her dropped pin, she replied, "I don't remember that."

"Well you said it," I informed her as she cursed herself for pricking her finger once again.

"Doubt it. And it wouldn't be for me." I frowned a tad, taking her patch and needle to put next to mine. "It would be for Francois."

A blush caressed my face as she said his name. I wondered how she could say it like that. Steady, careful, confident.

"W-What?" I stuttered. "Francois is gone; he's been gone for a while."

"Noo... Constance told us a week ago. Francois and his mother are visiting next month." I was confused. I wondered why she had not told me before. She knew that I had cared about him. I said nothing but I wished that she would have told me before. I wished  _he_  had told me.

"Wait," Runa said, her ears perking up the way they always did when she got excited. "You still  _like_  him." She giggled as my blush deepened.

"I-I do not!" She laughed harder as she went on teasing me. She roared in hysterics. I don't think she realized it wasn't reciprocated.

When she calmed, I still felt irritation in my chest, but she did not note on my silence. "It's crazy though... how everything went down with the dragons and everything? Is it even safe for travel?" She paused. "I'm kinda glad though... that Ulfric survived." I looked up at her. She looked towards the ground with unease.

"You're a Stormcloak?" I asked.

"I don't know, Loralei. I just... At least they think for themselves." When I said nothing, she continued. "But I guess it doesn't matter. Not now— with the dragons." Silence followed. Like always I found nothing I could say.

"Have you heard from your mother?" I shook my head. Runa smiled slyly to herself as if something witty had crossed her mind. "Dragons are back— when will your mother be?"

I didn't laugh.

* * *

 _Dovahkiin_.

* * *

On the first of Heart-Fire, summer was still clinging on to the world. It was early in the evening and the skies of Riften were turning from grey to pink. The Bazaar shops were beginning to close, and the citizens of Riften were headed not home but to the Bee and Barb for a drink and a song. Runa was playing tonight, something many citizens had grown accustomed to. She told me she was paid three coins for each song. By now, I assumed she'd had at least three hundred septims stashed away. Though I'd always made an effort to watch her play, tonight I didn't feel like hearing her music. I wanted only to sit on my favourite barrel and watch the colours change in the sky. I was alone by eight fifteen, even the beggars turning to the inn to evade the looming evening chill that forewarned the fall. It was cold, I realised but I decided not to feel it. Perhaps it would prepare me for a long, cold winter, harsher than the last.

The moment seemed almost picturesque, with the town completely vacant and the sun setting faster and faster. The cool breeze shoved and pulled on the fallen leaves, and I cringed at the sound of them sweeping across the hard ground. The store signs rattled and creaked from old age and lack of upkeep. All around me I felt eeriness, but somehow I was not compelled to follow my neighbours into the inn. I was waiting for something. I didn't know what and I didn't know when, but like a disciple awaiting forgiveness, I was patient. I did not have to wait long though, for when the sun was hidden behind the city, and when the critters fell to sleep, I heard it, and so did the rest of the world.

* * *

It was almost like a whisper; one that travelled with the wind or the rivers or the trees. Like a whisper that could shake the ground and rattle the world. The word which was spoken or whispered or yelled seemed not to matter, because everyone understood what it really meant. Skyrim had shifted, and perhaps this was the newborn crack in the world that would shatter everything, or perhaps it was the bandage that would heal the wounds we already created.

* * *

It was not long before the whispers of the Dragonborn were upon us.

* * *

I received the letter only four days after it was sent. A courier; a man with thin clothes and an ugly hat had come up to me in haste.

"Here, for you," he said, holding out to me the enclosed envelope, "from Elaira." I took the letter hurriedly, grabbing it from his hands. He was off before I could even open the envelope. It took me a moment to unfold the paper in my shaking hands. It was like holding an explosive in my palm, and any button, any movement could set it off, but when I finally opened it, I couldn't tell if I was relieved or disappointed with the lack of _boom_. I tried to look for some sign that this couldn't be real. It had been too long. She was gone. But it was here: all the signs that anyone needed. The paper was thick and subtly off-white, but the same kind Mother had always liked to use. She used blue ink instead of black, a luxury only the rich could afford. Her hand was messy and masculine, scrawled quickly and almost crookedly. It was her, I knew it. I only hesitated for a moment before I read its contents.

* * *

_4_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 206_

_Daughter,_

_I know I have been gone for my longest now, and am sorry I have not returned or written, but I have been away. Where does not matter, so do not ask me._

_I am the Dragonborn._

_Keep it to yourself; burn this letter. You won't be able to reach me yet, but I will write again soon._

_Yours,_  
 **Elaira AuvreaArnith**  
Thane of Solitude

* * *

My eyes ran hurriedly across the page and when it was over, a sense of numbness washed over me. It was like the calm before the storm, where I tried to feel something but there was nothing, not a single emotion washed through me. But when I closed the paper once more and looked around me, I felt everything pile up inside of me. It started from my toes as I remained like a statue, and from there it rose until my body felt heavy. I couldn't pick apart what I was feeling, and I was at a loss of breath. Panic vibrated through me as I looked all around me, and I forgot where I was. I was desperate for something, anything, but everything was blurred and my senses were halted. I searched desperately for the market stalls, I longed for the smell of baked bread diluted by the city pollution. I waited for the buzz of the town, the grumbling of people and the hammering of the anvil, but I couldn't see or feel anything and the more I searched for it, the more was lost.

I stood there, in the middle of the city whose name I could not remember, clenching onto the piece of paper that I couldn't even understand, and I would have stood there forever, in confusion and daze for it not a hand placed gently on my shoulder that stole me out of my reverie.

"Loralei." I blinked and everything was back. Nothing had really changed.

"Runa," I replied. Her worried eyes searched me, and my response was only to hand over the thick, off-white piece of parchment in my hands.

* * *

"Are you going to burn it?" Runa began as she took a seat next to the fire. We'd somehow shifted to Honeyside, Runa feeling the need to speak in private. The house was empty, but warm and only the slight smell of the cold lingered. It was the late afternoon now and market stalls closed early for a light shower was falling from the sky.

"I don't know," I replied, standing next to the cooking pot, where I'd started up a stew. Lydia would soon be home, and it was my turn to cook.

"She  _did_  tell you to…" Runa reminded me, gazing into the flames, almost timidly. When I said nothing, she continued, "Are you going to show Lydia?" I had not thought about it, as it had seemed almost like a reflex. Of course I would show her the letter. She would want to know the whereabouts about the great Thane Elaira!

"Yes," I answered steadily. "She'll know what to do."

"That smells  _amazing_ ," Runa cooed, taking in a deep whiff. I would have thanked her but politeness was not quite on my mind. "What is it?"

"Stew… Rabbit and pheasant," I responded, setting aside my wooden spoon for the moment.

Silence filled the congested space and I somehow became aware of my breath.  _In and out_ ; it seemed too easy to forget.

"Are you glad?" The silence shattered as she questioned once more. My only answer was a look. Before Runa began to open her mouth once more, I spoke first.

"Not every silence needs to be filled." She did not speak for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

_20_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 206_

_Loralei,_

_I owe you some explanation. I know it was not fair… Everything I have done has not been fair, but I still must explain what has happened. I was crossing the border and ran into Ulfric and his men. The Imperials captured us. I was on the chopping block when the dragon came. He was great and black and I was afraid. It is almost ironic how he saved me—and Ulfric. What happened after has been a blur. All I know now is that I have a great many duties and honours to fulfill; ones I cannot tell are a blessing or a curse. I have been appointed Thane of Whiterun, and that is only the least of my worries._

_Dragonborn they call me now._

_It is strange. I do not feel different with this new discovery. The first time we killed a dragon, everyone looked at me in awe. They looked as if something amazing or horrifying had just happened. And perhaps something amazing and horrifying has happened, but whenever I slay a Dragon, I feel the same. When I think about it, I know I should feel more complete in some way or at least feel a loss. But I don't and I cannot. I've never so yearned for more wisdom—more truth._

_I am going to climb the 7000 steps. I do not know what awaits me on High Hrothgar, but I believe it is my calling. I am staying at the inn in Whiterun, and after my pilgrimage I shall return there. You may write to me if that is what you wish._

_I hope you are well. Pray for me, love, and let the divines guide you._

_Give my best to Housecarl Lydia and Runa._

_Yours,_  
 **Elaira Auvrea-Arnith**  
Thane of Solitude  
Thane of Whiterun

* * *

_25_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 206_

_Mother,_

_I don't know what to say, because I do not understand. You are Dragonborn. I am the dragonborn's daughter. That is all I know, and all I can say… But Runa has showed me a song and I hope this excerpt may be of aid._

_"_ _And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage way come unfurled!_

_"_ _Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world! But a day shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies, will be silenced forever and then! Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw, Dragonborn be the savior of men!"_

_However, I must congratulate you on becoming Thane of Whiterun. I am only saddened that you must be away for so long. Riften longs for your return, and I am hopeful that you will concede to the city's yearning. However, I hope your pilgrimage is a safe one and I hope those steps do not tire you as they might others._

_Luck to you, Mother._

_Cordially Yours,_  
 **Loralei**  
Daughter of the Dragonborn

_P.S. You asked for my prayers but I've not stopped praying._

* * *

Runa sighed as she lounged on her bed. Constance had taken the boys on a fishing trip, and the orphanage was empty. Runa had been invited on the trip but she had opted out, saying that slave work was beyond her. "You're so lucky."

"How am I lucky?" I asked, sweeping the floors because Runa would not. She did not protest (neither would Constance). Ever since three new boys had arrived during the summer, Constance had been very overwhelmed and the state of the orphanage was not as prim and proper as it once was. Constance made an effort to keep the place in order, assigning chores and such, but as the naïve say and the adults agree, boys will be boys. And of course, Runa will be Runa.

As Runa sat in her unmade bed, with her duvet at the foot, the rain clattered against the wood and the fire burned on.

"You have everything…" Runa said silently, looking everywhere but my eyes. I set aside the broom for a moment before moving towards my friend, sitting on the bed across from her.

"I don't, Runa," I stated steadily.

"You're rich, you have a family and Lydia… you're smart and pretty. Your mother is the Dragonborn!"

"Don't be a fool," I said to Runa quietly. I couldn't tell if my heart was slowing or if it was clattering against my chest. "I don't have a mother." There was not a pause, for there never was with Runa. She leaned over and gently took my hands into hers. They were clammy and warm and soft and reminded me of someone long gone. She looked at me now, her eyes gazing widely and wildly into mine.

"Me neither." Despite everything, I laughed with her, so hard until my stomach hurt and I forgot why I was laughing in the first place.

* * *

When Francois came into town, Runa and the boys ran hurriedly to see their friend. They laughed and they talked and they told stories. I watched on from my barrel, as the old friends reunited. Francois looked older, cleaner and wiser. His mother seemed happy and together they were content. He sent me and wave and a smile and I did my best to return it, my own familiar blush unable to find me. He went off and they played together, and I felt quite content to be forgotten.

We did not speak for the remainder of his stay, but Runa heartily gave him a change purse, only three sides sewn this time.

* * *

It was always easy for me to see what others could not. I never really wanted to, if I'm honest, but that never stopped me. I didn't want to see what people were really feeling. I didn't want to glimpse into peoples' pasts. I didn't want to know their stories and their sorrows. I never really cared. I wanted to hide behind a misty veil, ignorant to what might be behind it.

People always want to know and to learn the insides of a human being. They want to know thoughts and secrets and feelings that don't belong to them. A heart, a brain; blood, bones: it's never enough. They search their neighbours' hands and travelers' faces, but they still find nothing. When I looked at a strangers face, I saw their mothers' warm embrace and their fathers' cold hands. I looked at them and I felt their touch, both warm and cold. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to know their secrets or their feelings. I didn't want to know their mother's name. I did not want to memorize their laugh or hear it again. I didn't want to. I did not care.

Perhaps there was something that went wrong with me, somewhere between my conception and up until 4E 206, but was it really so surprising that I never asked why? Was it so shocking that I never wished to hold your hands or listen to that wise advice made for another time? It wasn't to me. I'd never tried to figure out the reason for my disregard, but I really need you to understand that I never knew the reason either. It might be that I felt so much, that feeling what others feel was bringing me to my maximum capacity. Or maybe it is that I just did not feel at all, not the way I was supposed to.

I laughed and I smiled and I used to cry. I blushed and I dreamed and I loved. But it was almost like I was slowly backing away from reality until I was outside of my own body, and I watched from behind eyes that no longer belonged to me. My skin still felt warmth and the chill and the rain falling from the Heavens, but it was skin that wasn't mine. Loralei was not me. I wasn't a little girl who roamed around and sat on barrels. I was a nameless soul that wondered through bodies and was stuck between Nirn and Sovngarde, and I could never find where I belonged. I laughed and I smiled and sometimes I felt joy; but I didn't really want to.

* * *

Lydia seemed different during Mother's absence. When I used to look at her, I would be in awe. She'd always stood tall and proudly, but never pretentiously. Her smile was always crinkly and her laugh was loud and frequent. She always spoke to me with patience and only the slight condescension that came with being an adult. She was a perfect Housecarl, always knowing the proper formula for being protective versus caring, welcoming versus hostile. Like most people of Skyrim she could tell stories all night and would always have more for the day next.

But when I looked at her from my seat at the table, some forgettable day at the end of Heart-Fire, she seemed dark. Her grip on her cereal spoon was deadly. She looked down at her food, rather than calmly looking around like she had always. She did not ask me how my sleep fared. She did not ask me if I wanted milk or juice. Religiously, she ate, spoon after spoon and when she was finished, she stood up, bowl in hand in one swift movement. It startled me, but Lydia didn't seem to notice. She only began washing her dishes.

I felt a need to question it. I didn't, of course.

* * *

_5_ _th_ _of Frostfall, 4E 206_

_Loralei,_

_I found the song quite comforting, so I must thank you. Have you told Lydia I've written? I've not yet heard from her._

_The climb was alright, though I did run into a frost troll and a good many wolves. However, I am alright, and High Hrothgar was quite mysterious, and to you it shall remain that way. The things I've learned and shall learn I cannot explain, and I won't burden you with a failed effort._

_The Greybeards have sent me on a quest to retrieve what is named: the Jurgen Wind-Caller. I am to go as soon as possible, though I do think I shall get a companion. I never liked travelling alone._

_I'm in Solitude, staying at the Winking Skeever. I planned on visiting Proudspire Manor, but I've decided against it-best to keep it the way it is._

_Please tell Lydia I miss her… She was always my dearest companion. If you didn't need her, I would have taken her with me!_

_Yours,  
_ **Elaira**

* * *

_10_ _th_ _of Frostfall, 4E 206_

_Mother,_

_We received your letter a day or two ago, though I haven't gotten to writing. I haven't been quite busy, but perhaps lazy… I do Father's name shame. Life is good and peaceful. Lydia tells me to inform you that she is as well as ever, and is comfortable though she misses you. Runa misses you as we; she raves about how amazing it is that I am the Dragonborn's daughter… I know I was not supposed to tell, but it's Runa. It's_ my _Runa. She's been playing a lot at the Bee and Barb, almost every night. I am very proud of her, and you would be too. She'd love for you to see her play sometime soon, she's improved very much._

_These months have been the longest, and sometimes I wish I could sleep through them all like a bear._

_I wish I could adventure with you, Mother._

_I wish you'd come home._

_Loralei_

* * *

It seemed everything was slowing down in the worst way that could ever happen. A minute was an hour. An hour was a day. A day was a month. A month was a year, but I was still here. I was still in Riften, stuck looking at the same grey sky, hearing the same stories told over and over again. All the letters and words of every book seemed the same and faces were melting into nothing. Every step I took, I went nowhere, and the more I stood still, the slower time passed.

They tell you that time is constant. There are 365 days in a year and it's all spaced out evenly. Each second, each minute and each hour have set values that can never be altered. Time is unstoppable and unchangeable. That's what they tell you but that's not true. An hour can be too much; too long. So long that your brain is burning inside your head because even though the world is moving around you, somehow time has slowed. An hour can be too little, too short of a time that you don't understand where the seconds went and goodbyes are rushed. An hour is sixty minutes, a minute is sixty seconds. But it is nothing but something we made up. It is something that we thought we could control. But really, it's nothing. Time is a lie. Time does not even matter.

* * *

They sang songs on the late Emperor's birthday; sad songs and happy songs; songs to dance to and songs to cry to. And I danced and I watched people cry. I ate and I laughed and I listened to stories, but I did not feel as though I was truly there. And it was Runa who noticed.

"Loralei," she whispered to me. "Where did she go?"

"I don't know." I was calm, but stiff and I felt as though I'd swallowed cement; I could feel it drying inside of me, thickness and heaviness multiplying. Runa looked over my face, searching for something. Searching for  _me_ , but it seemed that in the time of dragons, I was nowhere to be found.

She took my hands, and I let her, even though my fingers only felt like dead weight. I tried to appreciate the sentiment because Runa always wanted appreciation, but I couldn't find it in me. Instead, I tried to feel bitter that our hands were warm and clammy and I did not want her touch. That did not work either. I tried to feel an urge to embrace my friend, but I only stood still. I looked up at her face and I tried to miss her, to miss me, but I only saw a face whose familiarity was lost. Desperately I tried to react, in any way. I squeezed her hands, but I didn't mean it. ' _It'_ being the sentiment that usually came with a response like that. I could see that for once Runa realised it as well. She knew that she wasn't enough, and I desperately wished she was, because if I was forced to feel, I'd want it to be because of her;  _for_ her.

She let go of my hands and she began to cry. I did not know if it was for me or for her, but she sobbed into her own clammy hands, and I could only watch and pity her, disgusted with myself. She cried and she whined and she hid her face, but she stood there in the middle of a loud room and no one seemed to notice. She was an ugly crier, I observed. Her lips were swollen and her face was red, her eyes shrinking four sizes. I wondered if I cried like that. I couldn't remember.

* * *

I envied Hroar.

He'd died so young and unhappy. But to live old and unhappy seemed so much worse.

* * *

"Is it your mother?" she inquired dreadfully. I gnawed at my lip. It had been several minutes now since she'd burst through my door. It hung open, and I dared not close it. She was across the room from me, and she looked like a tiger about to leap. I had been avoiding her since Emperor's Day and she'd come knocking at my house each day since. I never answered the door. I was surprised she waited this long to come in by herself. She was in complete desperation; for answers, for me, for anything. "Or is it me? The dragons? Are you still upset that Ulfric escaped? Did something awful happen?"

"Stop," I said for the umpteenth time. It was weak, and I am still not sure if I'd meant it. I avoided her eyes as my heart beat against my bones as if it was trying to escape, each loud  _thump_  harder than the last.

"Are you ill?" She came close to me in one long stride and touched my forehead with the back of her palm. "Please don't be ill, you're my darling!"

"I'm not sick," I said simply, moving her hand from my head. "Not… like that." Her eyes weren't daring or curious. She was concerned and sad and it was written all over her face. She was nearly trembling and I could feel it. Maybe it was me who was trembling.

"What do you mean?" she asked softly, moving back in submission. She was flushed and looked old and young at the same time.

"I don't know," was all I could manage. Stillness replaced the previous unstoppable vibration and I finally met her eyes. There was a moment of nothing. And then she began to cry once more. And it was awful and it hurt my ears and rattled my brain. She curled up into herself and she shook and it was so sad to see. And somehow, in some weird turn of things, I started to cry too. In a heartbeat or a blink or something, I was curled into myself and I was heaving. Something within me or beyond me had snapped and I stopped trying to hold myself together. And somehow I couldn't decide for myself whether it was sad or if it was beautiful or if it was both. I screamed and I panted and it was ridiculous but I couldn't stop. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't and everything was blurred, and I felt lighter with every sob. With every painful, ridiculous little tear, the bodiless soul that I had become, wrapped around the little girl's bones and they— _we_  became one once more.

* * *

_23_ _rd_ _of Sun's Dusk, 4E 206_

_Daughter,_

_I have found a companion—a few. Already, I have many stories to share for when I return. So many things are going on, it is hard to keep track. The world knows my name now. The word is out of the dragon within my veins, and it is secret no longer._

_Whiterun has grown on me. I have a home there now, Breezehome. It is small and simple, but I'm sure that a life could be made there. Perhaps someday you could call it home as well. I am staying there frequently, as is my companion. He's a jolly fellow and a great warrior, and I am proud to fight and journey with him. I believe you would enjoy him and his stories. He knows a great deal and is very learned._

_Sometimes I go to caves I find along the road and I'll find a pretty place to sit, and we will—me and Belrand that is. And we will just talk and laugh and look around us. Belrand could talk anyone's ear off, and you'd ask him to do it again. He's a great lad._

_Sometimes I make sure to make detours into caves and whatnot so we may explore more together. You see, our agreement was he would accompany me on my mission of Dragonborn… it's silly isn't it? Avoiding your duty to spend more time with a friend. I'm sure you'd understand, though; considering Runa! I miss your shenanigans, the lot of you! I hope you two are very happy, as I admit I am content._

_Yours,  
_ **Elaira  
** _Adventeress-Fatale_

* * *

_29_ _th_ _of Sun's Dusk, 4E 206_

_Mother,_

_I am glad you have found good companionship and are happy. Breezehome sounds lovely and I'm glad you can call someplace home._

_Luck to you,  
Loralei_

_P.S. It is silly; go save the world._

* * *

_4_ _th_ _of Evening Star, 4E 206_

_Loralei,_

_However brief, I do enjoy your letters! Though, I shame myself for rambling on, when I wish only to know what you are up to. Now, I must keep this one brief as Belrand is calling me to have a drink. Sometimes I forget how delicious BlackBriar mead truly is._

_Be dutiful!_

_Yours forever,  
_ **Elaira**

* * *

_12_ _th_ _of Evening Star, 4E 206_

_Mother,_

_Things are getting better as the winter becomes stronger. I am glad to be with Lydia and Runa and Maramal. Things are going as they always were, except I believe the white has brought a brightness to our grey city. I've started playing at the inn with Runa, and I'm improving as well. I pick the flowers I see and I save them for you until they wilt._

_Love,  
Loralei_

_P.S. Remember: be dutiful_

* * *

And so the Winter passed calmly and by the Spring of 4E 207, when the rain was light and the flowers blossoming, great news passed through the world. It was Maramal who brought the news to our city. "Alduin has been defeated!" he cried, running like a child through the streets. A flush caressed his face as he shouted in glee. Slowly, we all looked towards him as he fell to his knees. "Alduin, World-Eater is gone forever! We are saved! All hail Mara! All hail the Dragonborn!" With this message the town around me shouted and cried for Nirn had been saved. Those sad people of Riften dined like kings that night, drank like drunkards and sang their hearts away.

* * *

Still, I waited for her return.

* * *

Yet, the spring progressed happily with no word from the Dragonborn and soon enough, it was Rain's Hand and the town gathered at the inn to sing me songs. Runa and Maramal lead the chorus, singing loudly and obnoxiously, all the songs they could remember. Sometimes I sang along, but for the most part, I laughed at my neighbours and ate the treats they had brought me. It was strange how this winter had brought back colour to this grey town. The citizens were flushed and drunk and I was glad to see it. Twelve was still young, and I felt younger than I had in many years as my friends all danced around me.

* * *

It was Mid-Year when she stood before me, older and stronger than I had seen her last. Her freckles were bright, as were her eyes. She looked at me and I felt unsure what to do. She no longer needed to kneel to see my face. She looked down at me and said nothing until a man clad in steel armor came up behind her. He had grey, shoulderlength hair and a bald spot. His face was wrinkled and his mouth wide. He placed his hands on my mother's shoulders and looked at me with a smile.

"You must be Loralei." His voice was deep and Nordic. "I am Belrand."

Mother spoke now, looking between me and her companion, with unsure twinkling eyes, greener than I remembered. She spoke, and once more, my world shifted beneath her feet. "Loralei, this is my husband."


	5. I stand at the door and knock

There was a disturbance with the arrival of Belrand and Elaira. Perhaps not for the rest of the town, who cared little for gossip, but for me, this place which I called home for so long now was a home I had learned to make without her—without them. I wasn't the only one who felt the discomfort of their presence. For Lydia, it was an uneasiness found trying to accept this new husband; trying to accept this "new" Elaira. It was awkward for Balimund, who couldn't help but notice, and needed to remind himself of his place. He looked away and carried on with his business. For the red-haired man, it was secret glances that for once were not returned.

They felt it too. Mother tried to make herself at home, but she shifted uncomfortably under the judging glances she was surely receiving from the folk who in actuality didn't care. Belrand, who had an air of friendliness made many attempts to make friends. And sure, he was easygoing and laughed at everything, but the people of Riften were unlike him. Even the Nords who resided there could not make friends with this old man who was near desperate. Vulwulf Snow-Shod had old veins and old skin, and though his bones were strong as ever, his heart was faltering and the losses of war kept him trapped in a well of depression. Nord through and through, he could not laugh with Belrand who was a man who seemed never to have suffered a day in his long life.

Perhaps if things were different, Belrand could have made himself comfortable in this town of crooks and thieves and grey. If the water didn't run under the city, filled with pollution and blood, then maybe he could have found comfort fishing by the docks or staring at the sun setting behind the bay. Mayhaps if he didn't feel unease with the sound of the anvil, which was like a drum beat at the back of his head that he could not ignore, he would have walked around the market stalls bartering and buying. Maybe if he liked the expensive taste of Black-Briar mead and the way it fell down his throat like fiery silk, he would have frequented its bar, getting drunk and a false sense of happiness. But it was not this way. Belrand was a good man who could not help but look down at the misguided, a man who longed for colour and clouds and skies and rainbows. He loved the smell of fresh bread and swimming in clean lakes. In this life, this real, raw life, he had a wife who was lost to virtue and he would always live in debt of that. In this reality, he preferred the burn of ale and hard liquor to fancy mead. To Belrand, this man who was too old to change, silk was just an accessory, wealth was just a word and Riften would never be home.

Belrand was not made for Riften; he was not ready. And the city did not want him.

* * *

Neither did Maramal, it seemed. He had said nothing to me, but I knew he disapproved of Belrand. Whether it was because he and Mother were married away from Mara's 'loving gaze' or if it was because he was not the first, not even the second husband of Elaira the Thane, I was not sure. There was no bother in the approving of a man who meant nothing at all; not to Mara, not to Mother and not to me.

* * *

However, this man who meant nothing was not a bad man. He was kind. It was very easy to see, and no one would deny it. He was funny, and Runa liked him despite her efforts. It made me sad to think, but I knew that Balimund would have liked him. Onmund would have liked him. Hroar would have too. But I didn't. I didn't think I ever would.

* * *

Mostly, the pair just stayed at home, Mother only leaving to go to work. The same work she had been doing with the red-haired man only a year ago. She spoke little to me, mostly because I avoided home as much as possible. It seemed that I had quickly grown tired of the confined walls of Honeyside and of Riften, so Runa and I had taken to other means of wasting time.

Our days were spent outside the confines of Riften, at the docks or exploring the Rift. Directly outside the North gates of Riften were the stables, where I kept my two horses. The first, I had gotten when she was just a filly. Her coat was pure white and soft, and her eyes were red. An albino horse, I had learned she was. When I chose her I'd only seen how pretty she was. Perhaps she reminded me of a story Lydia used to read to me. Mayhaps it was just a dream. I had long ago named her Birdie.

The second horse had been Hroar's. His horse was smaller and fatter, but strong where Birdie was fast. This stallion was grey, with white speckled on his legs and around his muzzle. His mane and tail were dark black and swung pleasantly. Runa had taken to riding him. Bam Bam, she called him, because Hroar had left him unnamed for the year that he'd had him. I believed the name suited him. Hroar would have liked it.

The autumn-coloured valleys of the Rift stretched all the way to Ivaarstead and proved to be adventures within themselves. There were wolves and spiders and sabrecats which we were lucky to avoid. There was so much red and orange, and leaves littered the pathways like decorations. Trees covered the horizons and the sun glittered on the grass. It was beautiful, so beautiful that it took my breath away, and I would have to learn how to breathe again.

I didn't know why, but I always felt some strange sadness listening to the rustling of the leaves in the trees, or Birdie's hooves click against the stone pathways. There was a strange nostalgia in the discovery of these new places and I could not figure why. I knew someday I would miss it. Maybe I'd already begun to.

* * *

"We've already been here," Runa complained. We were sitting on the hard wood fence of Merryfair Farm as Synda collected the cabbages. She was a grey-skin with red eyes and what seemed like a permanent frown. Her hair was light red, bordering on faded orange and she had heavy bags under her eyes. She did not speak much as she worked, so we left her alone. So long as we did not interrupt her work, she let us stroll along her and her husband's farm freely.

"So? I like it," I said calmly. She had never complained before. She liked the view of the lake. It glittered in the evening sun and we could see the bottom of the shallow parts. It was quite the pretty sight. "You said you did too."

"Yeah, I do… the lake is real pretty and Bam Bam and Birdie like their rest, but Skyrim is such a big place. There has to be more to the Rift." She sighed, looking down at her dangling feet.

"Then where do you suggest we go? You know they don't like us at Heartwood Mill. Plus, the guards yelled at us when we asked for a tour of the forts. This is the best place… Plus we get to go swimming!"

"You hate swimming, first of all, and secondly, there's the entire rest of the Rift to explore." She smiled convincingly at me, though to no effect.

"You can go as far as you want, Runa, but I'm staying right here," I replied sharply. It wasn't often I said no, and normally I could be convinced, so Runa persisted.

"Lorie, Sarethi farm is only a few hours away on horse! C'mon, maybe we can help with the cows! Or the chickens! It might be fun… you love labour work!"

"I don't like labour work, Runa. I just like doing things…"

"Well, we're not doing much now are we?" she continued.

I gave a long dramatic sigh and jumped off the fence. Her pleads were annoying and frankly I wanted her to stop. "You're so annoying." Runa jumped off the fence and grinned, clapping her hands enthusiastically.

"So it worked!"

* * *

There was a soft humming when I approached the small garden. The plants were illuminating the night sky with their strange green glow.

"They're vibrating," Runa said, tying up Bam Bam to the fence. "Do you know what they are?"

Approaching the strange plants, I whispered, "Nirnroot."

* * *

Living on Sarethi farm were two sisters, Avrusa Sarethi, the oldest, and Aduri. By the time we had arrived at their small farm, it was nightfall, and we had been forced to send a note to Mother and Constance we would be staying with the sisters. Avrusa was not necessarily humble, but neither was she hostile. She had let us stay with them however, sharing their food, asking for nothing in return. She set up two cots on the floor for us to sleep in for the night, before she nearly collapsed onto her own bed. Aduri was kind as well, and she reminded me of someone I could not remember.

* * *

I awoke to the sounds of unfamiliar voices, and Runa fast asleep next to me.

"Aduri, how come the fields haven't been tilled like I asked?" Her voice was scolding and irritated. Through closed eyes, I imagined her scowl; the furrow of her brow.

"Because it's boring," replied the younger sister. "The fields are going to do fine... you don't have to dote over them so much."

"Boring? That food is paying for everything. If we lose even a single crop, we could starve or be forced to beg. I won't have it!" Desperation now. Desperation for her to understand maybe. Maybe just annoyance.

"All right, I understand. I'll do it tomorrow, okay? Just get off my back." I heard footsteps and the door closing behind them before I drifted slowly back to sleep.

* * *

"That's the most Nirnroot I've ever seen in just one place," I commented while Avrusa cooked us up some eggs.

"Actually, I'm growing it if you hadn't noticed. I'm the only person alive that can cultivate Nirnroot from a seed to a fully grown plant," she told us proudly. I nodded, tapping my fingers on the table.

"How?" Runa questioned, tilting her head slightly. "I mean if it's not common practice then how do you know how?" There was a moment of hesitance as Avrusa placed the eggs on several plates. Pork strips replaced the eggs on the fryer slate before she answered.

"I had quite the mentor. He taught me everything he knew about the Nirnroot and its strange properties. I haven't seen him in many years. I wonder what became of him... Anyway, He was an absolute genius when it came to the Nirnroot. He made it his life's work, developing all sorts of interesting concoctions," she paused, the ghost of a smile caressing her lips. "He was an alchemist of sorts."

"She's an alchemist too!" proclaimed Aduri, rather excitedly. "And I am a painter."

"I  _was_  an alchemist. There isn't much time for that in my life anymore I'm afraid. I actually owned a shop in Vivec City long ago, but I had to leave all that behind when the Red Mountain erupted. Perhaps someday I'll reopen a shop here in Skyrim."

"And perhaps someday, you will let me go to Solitude, so I can actually find someone who'll teach me." Aduri tapped her fingers playfully on the table, sporting a toothy grin. There was a flicker of youthful hope in her eyes.

"I was born there… in Solitude," I added, nervously glancing between the two sisters, afraid I might have interrupted an oncoming argument, but Aduri was still grinning; looking at me now.

"Is it beautiful? I hear it's beautiful…" Aduri sighed dreamily before looking down at her hands. Sadness fled across Avrusa's face, as she placed our plates in front of us. "Do tell me, it's my dream… but my old bat of a sister won't give me leave to head up there."

"I told you, Aduri, there's too much to do this year… maybe next year, after the harvest you can go. We're at a shortage of everything we need. We haven't seen Jazbay Grapes in months… you know how difficult this is," Avrusa pleaded tiredly. This conversation had happened before.

Aduri huffed, not looking up from her hands. They may have been shaking. I might have just imagined it.

"It's not going to be next year, nor the year after that! You just care about this farm more than you care about me!" Aduri cried, slamming her hands on the table, the plates shaking.

"Painting won't put food on this table, but our crops will. Be patient Aduri… it will happen someday, I promise." Aduri stood to her feet and left the room, and Avrusa did not follow. She knew her sister would be back.

* * *

"Are you angry?" I asked. I couldn't read her expression. Constance had been angry with Runa for leaving, but Elaira seemed calm enough, and I could not identify any signs that she was angry at all. Her face was not flushed, her eyes not livid. The line of her mouth was hard, the hard lines of her jaw sharp. Though she was not angry it seemed, she looked at me hard, drawling out an answer,

"I suppose I don't have the right." She held her gaze. I figured I should drop mine in shame, but I felt none. Neither did she it seemed. Neither of us apologized. I wouldn't. I was not sorry.

* * *

The 29th of Sun's Height marked the day Belrand tried to talk to me. For a friendly man it seemed he was uncomfortable with confrontation. He'd been holding out, I thought. Or maybe it was me, but the past month he had uttered only few words to me. I could not recall if I had ever said anything to him at all. It was late in the night, maybe three hours until midnight when he knocked on my door. It was hanging open. I did not feel the need for privacy, and I liked it. The closed door made me feel confined. No one came to the basement much anyway.

I had been digging through my chest, which was nearly full of junk I'd collected over the past six years. I was looking for my dolly. It would probably be missing limbs, and its painted eyes would be worn off, but I had only just remembered about it, and did not bother to fight the urge to dig it out.

When he knocked, I dropped whatever I'd been holding to look at him. His hair was tied back and he wore his grey night robe. He looked ridiculous in the expensive garb, but he wore a hopeful grin. Had mother put him up to this? I doubted it. Desperation was most likely the cause for his visit. I should have stood up to greet him, but I fought the curtesy. He had come to my room. "Hello there, Lorie," he said pensively, his accent thick.

"Loralei," I corrected him. He ignored me as he took a step into my bedroom. It was a mess I realized. I had not noticed the disaster I'd made in search of my dolly. I regretted the search. It would take at least an hour to clean up. I wondered if she had been worth it. Had even bothered to name her?

"It's quite a mess you've made in here," he observed. I resisted the scowl.

"I noticed," I retorted. I scoffed at him, my previous efforts in vain.

"Of course…" For a man who could talk for hours, he seemed not to know many words in that moment. For once I decided to cut the silence short. My patience was waning.

"Is there something you need?" I asked, assuring the curtness in my tone. It seemed to work as he was now cut from his reverie. He looked dumb when he was thinking. Maybe he wasn't thinking at all.

"Um… no, Lorie, I was just wondering if you wanted some tea? The stuff really helps a bloke sleep," he said, grinning to himself as if he's accomplished something.

"It's Loralei," I corrected once more.

"Huh?" he blinked.

"My name; my name is Loralei." I let out a breath as he scratched his head. "And no thank you. I've never liked tea." Letting his hand drop, he nodded.

"Goodnight, then." He shut the door behind him.

* * *

Belrand came again two nights later. I had cleaned the mess I made after I'd given up searching for my dolly. I must have thrown it out. This night I sat on my bed, reading a book.  _Immortal Blood_ it was called. It was strange, but informative and I was very interested. Evesa had given it to me when her father told her it was too inappropriate for her to read. She read it anyway, of course, but Maramal would never know.

He knocked three times before I looked up. That hopeful grin was still stuck on his face like a parasite. "What are you reading?"

"Immortal Blood," I told him, closing the book and setting it on the night stand next to me. I looked at him expectantly. The robe he wore was green. His hair was down. He was still wrinkled, bald and wide-mouthed.

"What's it about?" He took a step into my room, looking around cautiously, as if searching for any potential dangers. Some help he must've been to Mother; scared of a twelve-year-old girl's room.

"Vampires," I answered him. He nodded, but this time he didn't wait for silences.

"There's tea, if you'd like any."

"No thank you," I said, picking up my book once more.

"Goodnight, Lorie." He closed the door with a click.

* * *

He didn't come again the next night. Or the night after.

* * *

"Why do you need so many Jazbay grapes?" Lydia asked. I watched her carefully as she furrowed her brows.

"They're for a friend," I told her. "It's a long story. You know I don't ask for much," I pleaded, doing my best to imitate Runa's 'begging-for-things' eyes. Lydia sighed and shifted before answering,

"As the Lady commands; I am at your service." I giggled and thanked her quickly before she left to make the courier order.

* * *

Bam Bam whined as I fed Birdie an apple.

"Oh hush, you've eaten three already," Runa scolded. He whinnied loudly, receiving a glare from the girl. "You're an ogre, you are." I chuckled and gave the poor horse the last apple. He nuzzled me gently and I could have sworn he sent a nasty look at Runa. We finished tying the horses to a nearby tree and tracked up a little farther until we found it.

"So this is it," I sighed, looking up at it. The stone was tall, taller than me or Runa. Shaped strangely but symmetrically out of rock, it hosted strange, rune-like carvings.

"The Shadow Stone… it's a bit dramatic." Runa sighed, tilting her head to inspect it. "So… what does it do? Like what's its blessing?"

"Once a day, those under the sign of The Shadow can become invisible for an extended period," I recited, looking at it. It seemed like just a normal stone to me. Admittedly, I was disappointed by the anticlimax.

"You sound like you're reading from a textbook," Runa said, looking at me funny.

"I probably am. I learned that from Evesa." Runa nodded in understanding.

"She's way too smart… how old is she now?"

"Four… She'll be five this Last Seed."

"Wow… time flies." I nodded in agreement, my stomach growling softly in afternoon hunger. I wished I'd saved that last apple.

* * *

"Do you read a lot?" he asked me as I sat at the kitchen table, some forgettable book in my hands.

"I suppose I do," I answered, not taking my eyes away from the text in front of me. I had stopped reading five minutes ago, unable to concentrate.

"You don't get that from your mother," he laughed. It wasn't throaty, but baritone. To me, it sounded like squawking. When I didn't answer, he continued. "Though, she probably has dozens of copies of the Wolf Queen. Several of each volume! I tell you, that woman is completely obsessed with Potema." I looked up at the man then. He was startled by my apparent acknowledgment of him. He met my eyes worriedly. Flashes of words and memories raced from behind my eyes. I ignored the hitch in my throat as I tried to form words.

"When you were in Solitude with my mother," I began.

"Yes?" His brows furrowed, awaiting my continuation. He was so clueless. I almost felt pity.

"Did she visit the grave?" He thought for a moment, and hesitated. I suppose he thought his answer would matter.

"…No."

* * *

It was the seventeenth of Last Seed, 4E 207 when my mother came into my room. The door hung open lazily as I played around with my lute. There was a lack of rhythm and tune, but it felt nice to strum the tightly woven strings.

"Loralei," she greeted. I looked lazily up at her. It had been a while since we had spoken. Her red hair was plaited loosely and I couldn't see her freckles in the dim light my candles provided.

"Elaira," I returned. She seemed unfazed by the use of her first name. I didn't think she even noticed. I wondered when I'd become so pompous.

"We must speak." She did not seem nervous, but cool and confident. She knew she held the control. I tried not to resent it.

"Go on," I said, playing softly.

"Belrand and I have been speaking, and we have both agreed that what I do, here in Riften… we've agreed that it cannot continue… not when you are around." I bit my tongue.  _Of course it's my fault._

"I assure you mother, that whatever shenanigans you are up to, are irrelevant to me."

"You are being disrespectful, Loralei." I stopped strumming and set my instrument aside. I didn't believe she had the right to scold me, but I was still me, and despite my efforts to speak out, I wouldn't, because it was Hroar who asked questions, and Runa who had answers.

"Alright."  _Don't apologize_ , I reminded myself.

"I don't know what's been going on with you lately, but never have I heard this much mouth from you! I am sick of you prancing around this house like you own it." The flush, the freckles, the livid eyes. There it was: anger.  _But why is she really angry?_  "Belrand has been making an effort with you, and all you do is sass him. He does not deserve it. I don't deserve it." I said nothing. I waited, and watched as her face got redder, her freckles were darker and her eyes bright with crazy. I didn't believe she got to dictate what she didn't and did not deserve.

_Don't apologize._

"What did you want to tell me?" I asked gently. I let her regain control.  _Just don't apologize_.

"Riften isn't a healthy place for either one of us, my child," she continued, "all the things we've done…"  _All the things you've done_ , I corrected in my head. "…all the things that have happened. Who we've become; what I've become.

"I admit moving here wasn't my best decision. Raising you here was a mistake."  _You didn't raise me_ , I felt like saying. I didn't. "My work here as—as—as  _whatever_  has caused a lot of harm. It was driven from some sort of selfishness I suppose. But Belrand makes me want to do better. He wants the best for us—for this family. He wants us to be a  _family_. _I_  want us to be a family!"

But I'd had a family before. Several, actually; but was it worth having something, if you were always meant to lose it?

"Where will we go?" I asked. I returned the hard stare that she always seemed to irradiate. I swear hers had almost faltered. She let out a huff, and I almost rolled my eyes.  _How dramatic_ , Runa would have said. I didn't.

"Whiterun." She closed the door when she left. I closed my eyes before the room could smother me.

* * *

"So you're leaving," she said slowly. I could see the gears shifting from behind her eyes. They got like that when she was trying to understand something. Her processing time was never that fast. It wasn't that she was simpleminded; she was someone with too many thoughts at once. Her jumbled thoughts would make a mess of her brain, and she would need to sort them out. Perhaps that was why she was so thoughtless in her actions and her words; it was easier.

"Y-you're leaving," Runa repeated, louder this time, faster but apprehensive. I blinked hard and tried to swallow. My throat was dry.

"I'm leaving," I confirmed. It looked like she was melting before me and I couldn't try to catch her in my hands because she would leak through the cracks of my fingers. It was midnight now, and darkness shrouded the sky. The moon was out, lighting the world the best it could. We stood ten feet from the orphanage, ten feet from the nearest lamp post and I couldn't see her face anymore.

"When?" she asked me; regaining confidence in her voice. I hoped she would not cry. I hoped I would not cry.

"The beginning of Heart-Fire," I told her.

"Where?" she seemed angry now, I was not sure. I wouldn't put it past her to be angry at me for this for forever.

"Whiterun; mother has a house there called Breezehome."

"That's a dumb name," she said, making me giggle. She stepped towards me and embraced me. I thought she was smiling. "I'm going to miss you, Lorie. But I know that our paths will cross again."

It was me who cried this time.

* * *

Belrand brought me tea that night, the night when I told Runa. It was warm and tasted like leaves and honey. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and my body swoon in warmth. He left the door open.

* * *

"I assume you're going to work as Thane?" I asked, as we packed up the carriage.

"Well, that was the plan, but I've decided to work at the Inn instead. The owner, one of my old friends has passed and has left it to me and a young lady," she told me, throwing up my bags.

"What's Belrand going to do?"

"Arrangements have been made so Belrand can work as a huntsman for both the Drunken Huntsmen and the Bannered Mare." She climbed into the carriage and I followed. Lydia and Belrand had taken a separate carriage several days before.

"And me?"

"You can do whatever you please, I suppose. There are many opportunities in Whiterun; a lot of people. You'll make friends… I suppose you'll spend your days playing."

"I don't play anymore."

"Yes, well you know what I mean."

* * *

"Do you want to play a game?" she asked me. The sun was low in the sky, beginning to set early now that the summer was coming to a close. Her hair had been pulled back, and I could see the lines that began to etch into her skin. The sides of her mouth; the corner of her eyes.

"What kind of game?" I asked her, shifting in my seat.

"What games do you and Runa like to play?" She seemed sincere about it. I figured she was bored. So was I.

"She likes to play question games," I answered, looking out the window. I didn't know where we were, but I could see a tall mountain in the distance.

"Do you like those games?"

"I never thought about it," I admitted. It was true. Whether or not I'd liked the game had not been very relevant. But in the middle of the night, when Lydia would be fast asleep, and we would lay in my bed, she would whisper questions and I would whisper answers. They were questions and answers that did not and would not ever matter. I never told the whole truth anyway. Neither did she.

"Let's play anyway," Mother said, a thin smile creeping onto her face. "I'll start… Have you ever kissed a boy?" It was weak. She seemed a little desperate. Perhaps this was some strange sort of mother-daughter bonding, but it made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. Was it supposed to be weird: talking about boys with your mother? Was every daughter uncomfortable when their mothers pried? Or was it just me; was it just her?

"Yes," I said simply. Mother gaped, exclaiming,

"Who?!"

"It's my turn," I said quietly, my cheeks flushing.

"Fair enough," Mother said with a huff, awaiting my question. I wondered if she was scared. Scared that I would ask a question that would bare her soul, a question that would force her to confess all the things that she wished to keep from me.

"How did Onmund die?" She stiffened, I could see her gaze harden, her jaw tighten and her eye trying not to twitch.

"An arrow in the back."

"Did you kill him?" I inquired. She closed her eyes, as if trying her hardest to repress a memory that just wouldn't go away no matter how hard she tried.

"I couldn't see," she said through gritted teeth, her eyes still closed. I didn't want to know anymore. We stopped playing after that.

* * *

We were seven hours into our journey, and it had been four since mother and I had last spoken. I had tried not to think, attempting to dissolve any of my passing thoughts. Only the hooves and the wheels clattering against stone filled the silence. I had a headache, my pulse throbbing in my temples. And I wanted to close my eyes. But I kept them open, because I wanted to be awake, to be alive for this. Whatever  _this_  was. I wanted to carve these passing hours into my brain because however uneventful, however boring and repetitive this may seem, to me it had been something. Something I did not wish to forget. I did not want to be in Riften one day and then blink and be in a different city, a different life. I didn't want to close my eyes to the faces of Maramal and Dinya and Evesa and Balimund to have them be changed into unfamiliars when my eyes opened. But the silence was suffocating. The lack of communication, the lack of anything and I could not contain my thoughts.

I looked towards my mother and I wondered if she could see the desperation on my face; the desperation for communication, for memories, for sleep. She only looked at me, pensive. She sat across from me, and suddenly I wished to crawl into her lap. It was pathetic, I knew. I should not have been so easy to forget that I was not who I was six years ago, and she had not been for a while. But she leaned close to me, and took my hand in hers. Her hands were callused and rough, but they were warm and familiar. I wondered how it came to this. I wondered when it became weird to touch her. I wondered when it became a betrayal to myself to want to be cradled in my mother's arms. Could a year really do so much? Could six?

"I will miss Riften," she said, and there were tears on her face.

"Did you really want to leave?" I rasped, unable to remove my eyes from her eyes. They were like looking at my own. They were bright and old and scarred and scared.

"I'm so sorry, Loralei…" It seemed her words were stuck at the back of her throat, and she was struggling not to break down and ball and scream and plead.

"Why didn't you say you wanted to stay?" I felt the heat rush to my face and my ears. I felt the pressure behind my nose and in my throat. She withdrew her hand and wiped her tears, slowly sitting back in her seat. She looked outside, at the moon, before responding. Her eyes were dark and obstinate as she steadied her breath.

"I suppose I didn't have the right."

* * *

It took only twelve hours to arrive in Whiterun. It was three in the morning by the time we approached the guards; our baggage in our hands. They stood tall and I had trouble telling them apart. The two were around the same height with round chins and thick beards the colour of damp wood. Their eyes were hidden in the shadow of their helmets and I could not tell if they were menacing or kind.

"State your business," said the one on the right. His voice was gruff and loud.

"Really, that's none of your business," Mother retorted, tilting up her chin.

"It's near three in the morning and I'm tired. State your business, Lady. These are troubling times and we cannot let strangers into the city without hearing their appeal." Elaira sighed dropping her chin. She was tired too it seemed.

"I am Thane Elaira of Whiterun and Solitude. I sent my husband and Housecarl before us. We are moving into Breezehome." The guard nodded and opened up the gates to us. The wide, tall doors were made of wood and metal, groaning in the quiet of the night.

"Sorry to have troubled you Thane. Welcome back to Whiterun." Elaira turned back to the guards as I walked on.

"It is no issue. I am glad to see you are protecting our city."

"Gods be with you Thane. You and your family, you bring happiness and hope to us all." I heard the gates close with a moan as I dragged my feet forward. The city was shrouded in darkness, seldom any light to show the way.

* * *

Breezehome was not far into the city and I had been grateful for that. The large door of Breezehome opened up to a living/cooking room. Surrounding the large fire and cooking pot were benches and stools. It was all plain, the whole house made of wood and cheap accessories. The unadorned walls were lined with shelves and weapon racks. The shelf closest to the door was home to several linoleum plates stained blue and white and a couple lockboxes. Against either wall were two bookshelves, filled to the brim. They were leather bound and I only imagined how the parchment would feel under my fingers; how its scent would fill my lungs. I would have to investigate them another day.

Further back was the dining area with a long wooden table placed along the right wall, pulled up to the corner. A bench was tucked into it, a little crookedly. The left side sported a wooden and crooked stairway. Underneath it was a door. Mother pointed to it when she walked up next to me.

"Your room," she said, putting down her bag before looking at me. I was almost as tall as her, I noticed. "Do you need help with your things?"

"No," I replied as I proceeded towards the door. In turn, she proceeded up the steps. They creaked and moaned under her weight.

My bedroom was small, the bed taking up the entire left wall. On the right were a small wardrobe and a child's desk. A shelf hung on the wall, supporting a small chest. I sighed as I placed my bag on the small space of floor between my bed and the furniture on the right side. I sat on my bed and looked up to the chest. I thought of all the things I had managed to stuff into my last one over the past six years. I thought of the lunar moth wings and the flowers that somehow never wilted. I thought of my dolly, with her painted eyes and woven hair. I thought of the key I'd thrown away when I'd locked it all up. I wondered if I'd ever search for it; if I'd ever find it.

I closed the door before falling into my bed and closed my eyes. I waited to suffocate, for the walls to wrap around my lungs, and steal my breath away. They didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: This chapter was originally supposed to be the first two years of Loralei's Whiterun life, but whoops I got carried away with the leaving part! Next chapter will probably be excruciatingly long to make up for the lack of story progress in this chapter, but I'm hoping it will turn out nicely. If you enjoyed this chapter, please review, and if you didn't, I'd like to hear your thoughts as well! Your comments are always such a lovely gift to me, and I'd love to hear from anyone with an opinion on My Dear Fathers. She really is my baby, so be gentle!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> xoxo
> 
> P.S. Extra super special thanks to my Beta, who encouraged me the most!!!!


	6. Bones of my bones

_5 th of Heartfire, 4E 207_

_MORNING_

_I arrived in Whiterun late last night and I have yet to leave my house, but I'll be sure to write about that later. The journey was long and uneventful, though I did pass some pretty landscapes that I'm sure you would enjoy. We didn't have much trouble with the guards so our arrival has gone smoothly. The house is alright. I know I shouldn't complain but I'm not used to this lack of... richness? Breezehome is a lot smaller than Honeyside, but I guess it's decent. Everything is just so plain and uncharacteristic. It's not even cozy; it's just… a house._

_My room is on the main floor and is the smallest. My bed is comfortable and this desk on which I write to you is sturdy, so I suppose it will do. The second floor has the other two rooms. Lydia's room is larger than mine, but simpler, with only a dresser, a bed and a nightstand. Mother and Belrand's room is nice, with a double bed against the back wall, double doors, a dresser, several chests and a small eating area in the right corner closest to the doors. It's simple, but I'm sure over time they will decorate. I will too, I suppose._

_Elaira's book collection is surprisingly extensive. She says that they are books she has collected throughout her year with Belrand. There's many, some in different languages too. She has even shown me her collection of journals. Not_ her  _journals, but journals she has found all around Skyrim. It's insane to think they are real people's stories and thoughts and lives all stuffed into thin, leather bound books. There are studies as well. There was an entire shelf and a half filled with texts from the libraries of the Bards College, the College of Winterhold and all scholars in between. Evesa would die! When you come to visit, you'll need to bring some back for her to read._

_Speaking of which, I hope you visit soon. There are quite a few people our age that I'm sure you will make quick friends with. I've yet to meet them because that requires leaving the house, but I'll fill you in on the details soon._

_Alright, Lydia is calling me to go to the market stalls with her. I suppose I cannot avoid Whiterun forever._

_I'll be back._

* * *

_EVENING_

_Okay, I'm back again. I don't have long before supper but I'll try and give you as much detail as possible._

_Whiterun is very domestic. It's not tall and crowded and pretty like Solitude, but it's not rickety and spooky like Riften either. People walk around with errands and lives and loves and it's like reading a boring book where the main characters just walk and walk and walk and do and do. I'm not sure if that makes sense._

_My point is that there's nothing special about this town; not that I know of anyway._

_My mother's work partner is called Ysolda, and she's lovely. She knows a lot about speech and I swear she could convince me to buy anything. Everyone's nice in Whiterun. I never thought that would be a bad thing. I reckon I've gotten too used to Riften._

_There's this great big tree in the Wind District, and it's dead and ugly and I wonder what it's doing there. I'm sure I'll find out. I plan on spending some time at the Temple of Kynareth. I hope they'll let me learn from them._

_The city is boring but there are many interesting people. You'd enjoy the rivalries, the ambitions, all that stuff. Belrand said you could visit soon._

_I have to attend dinner with the Battle-Borns now. I'll fill you in if you care to know about it._

_Write to me soon, please!_

_Love always,_

_Loralei_

* * *

_7_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 207_

_Loralei,_

_I'm glad to hear from you though don't get the wrong idea. I still have not forgiven you for your complete and utter abandonment of me. Whiterun sounds nice, at least nicer than Riften. The books sound great; I'll make sure to tell Evesa so she can feel_ sinfully _envious! That's strange that they wouldn't just cut down the tree if it's dead and ugly._

_Also, you'll get used to your room. And your house and city and neighbours._

_And since I've made that Segway, do tell me of your neighbours! All the drama, all the suspense! I'm desperate, old friend. Tell me everything! Also the Battle-Borns? I feel like I've heard of them before._

_Anyhow, Riften is boring as ever. Maramal has returned to preaching at the Bee and Barb every night. The townsfolk are getting annoyed by it (me too). Not much else is new except Christian got adopted by some nice young Imperials. The woman was barren. That's so sad._

_There's not much else to say except I already miss you._

_Love,_   
_Runa_

* * *

_8_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 207_

_The lovely Runa,_

_The day you stop holding the grudge is the day the sun rises in the West and sets in the East._

_And on the topic of my neighbours, the ones that do stand out to me are the Battle-Borns and the Grey-Manes. They have this whole rivalry thing going on. See, they are two of the oldest clans of Skyrim and have been 'close as kin' for centuries, all up until Ulfric's rebellion. Now the Battle-Borns are huge supporters of the Empire but the Grey-Manes support the Rebellion. So now, they apparently hate each other._

_My mother has obviously sided with the Battle-Borns, but Belrand says the Grey-Manes aren't bad people. Elaira doesn't seem to agree._

_Anyway, at that supper thing we had, all Mother did was talk about the war and politics with the BattleBorn clan. There's one boy called Lars who is only a year or two older than me. He's quite dreadful though, I don't think I've met anyone with such an ego. He wouldn't stop talking about his wealth and bragging about his 'beautiful' and 'big' and 'expensive' house. He didn't shut up until I told him my mother has three houses, plus the lodge in Winterhold and the Manor my father built in Falkreath. Except, when the 'competition' of wealth was over, he absolutely would not shut up about this girl that wouldn't stop harassing him. He told me "she has the real hots" for him. I tried not to cringe. I can't remember her name… Bridget? Betty? It doesn't matter I suppose. Hopefully I'll find some better company than this Lars character, and hopefully I don't run into Betty. I'll admit she sounds quite dreadful._

_I haven't gotten to the Temple yet, but I will eventually. I've been taking Bam Bam and Birdie for rides, but I think they miss you. I think we'll hire a courier to bring Bam Bam back to you, if you'd like that. I love him, but he's more yours than mine. Birdie will miss him, but I'm almost certain they will be reunited eventually, as will the two of us._

_Anyway, a boring Riften is a good Riften. The only excitement found there are thieves and bandits, neither of which I wish upon you. I'm glad for Christian, he was a sweet child._

_And before I forget, what would you like for your birthday? Thirteen is a big one!_

_Much love,_   
_Loralei_

* * *

_15_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 207_

_Loralei,_

_I'm sorry it's been a while, but we haven't had much parchment at the orphanage, and the boys wanted to write to Drax for his birthday, so there wasn't enough left for me._

_Anyway, there MUST be more to that rivalry! Is there a secret love affair? Did something bad happen and they're using the war to cover up the real reason for their rivalry? The possibilities are endless, you must investigate!_

_Game plan: befriend that boy Lars (also, what does he look like?). Then use him as a pawn to investigate the Battle-Borns! There has to be something else!_

_This is the end of the parchment, so bye, I miss you! Love: Runa, xox_

* * *

_16_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 207_

_Runa, my young friend, you are a scoundrel. First off, you didn't tell me what you wanted for your birthday, which is in exactly one month, so don't be surprised if I send you coal!_

_Secondly, I will absolutely not befriend Lars, and even if there is a secret love affair, it's none of my (or your) business._

_Yours,_   
_Loralei_

_P.S. I've enclosed ten feet of parchment, for you and the orphanage._

_P.P.S. Brown-blonde hair, curly. Blue eyes; dimples. He's ugly._

* * *

_20_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 207_

_Lovely Loralei,_

_I would like Bam Bam and a new lute for my birthday. Thirteen's not a big deal, and you are mean to me. Also, Eren kissed me and it was gross. I also feel sick and lightheaded and I blame you for not satisfying my Battle-Born/Grey-Mane needs!_

_I love and miss your stupid face; Runa xox_

_P.S. He doesn't seem ugly to me!_

_P.P.S. Coal is a rare resource that we need to cherish. I'd be flattered!_

* * *

We sat in Dragonsreach, along the long table. The Jarl sat at the head, my mother and Belrand on either side of him. I was seated at the other end of the table, with all the other children. To my left were the Jarl's trueborn children, Dagny and Frothar. Dagny was beautiful, in a way that reminded me of Runa. She was darker, however. She had brown hair that bordered on black, which fell past her waist in loose waves. Her eyes were black and menacing. She had dark, untouched skin and held her head high, her neck stretched up to give the illusion of height and power. Her brother towered over her, however, at least six feet tall, and broad. He was eighteen, three years older than his sister. He too was handsome, in a fresh, boyish way. He shared his sister's dark features, but where she held her head high, he slouched a little and wore a crooked grin. He was nice and kind and I thought he could rule someday. His sister was bratty and spoiled and I did not like her.

Their bastard brother sat to my right. He was thin and comely, lacking his siblings' good looks. He was pale and his brown hair long and thin. He said nothing to me, so I returned the favour, preferring to be ignored at the table.

Eating at the long table were also the Battle-Borns. They took up most of the table, three generations of family drinking and talking and laughing away. They were probably talking about the war; I wasn't paying attention. I was concentrating on my discomfort. My mother had chosen me a dress far too fancy and far too tight for my liking, and it was the only thing I could focus on. Still, I couldn't keep my ears from hearing Lars, who was speaking calmly with Frothar.

"Now that you're past seventeen, are you thinking about joining up with the Legion?" Lars asked, before chomping on a piece of meat. I almost gagged at the sounds he was making.

"I don't really want to participate in the war, if I'm honest," Frothar replied, wiping his mouth with a serviette.

"You've got to have a preference, everyone does!" Dagny added, twiddling her spoon. The silver flashed, catching the light.

"Well, yes, of course I do, but I know that if I fight for either side, it will reflect on the Jarl, and we all know he wants nothing to do with this war." Frothar answered.

"You're quite the politician," I added, taking a gulp of wine. "But this war has gone on for so long, he's going to be forced to choose anyway and probably soon."

"I agree with the Dovahkiin's daughter, I thi—"

"Loralei—that's my name." I corrected Dagny, who looked quite appalled by the interruption. There was a silence before Lars continued,

"Anyway, you shouldn't care how your parents live. It's your life, your decisions, the way I see it. My pa says every man is his own. Bones before blood, he says."

"So, you're saying that if you were a Stormcloak you father would be okay with it?" said Nelkir the Bastard. We all turned to look at him. It was the first thing he'd said all supper. "You're saying he wouldn't kick you to the curb, disown you, and spit on your dead body when you're killed at war? You're saying that your father, Battle-Born, legionnaire wouldn't take away your money, scratch you off the family tree and never look at you again?"

"My father loves me," Lars retorted, growing angry.

"Bones before blood."

* * *

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Lars asked. His tunic was grey-blue and well-fitted. He wore a silver vest over it and I thought he looked like a fool.

"A lute," I replied, glancing around the shop.  _Belethor's General Goods_  it was called. I wondered where Belethor, the shop owner was. Lars cocked his head and smiled.

"You know, my family has a whole bunch of lutes! Some are centuries old, they're super rare. They would cost a lot nowadays."

"One might wonder why a boy with so many expensive lutes is doing working at a general goods shop," I said, resisting the scowl. I thought his lips would thin or he would blush but he didn't. He chuckled and this time I did not resist the scowl.

"Well, Belethor went to go visit High Rock with his apprentice, so I offered to keep the shop up, actually." He smiled smugly as he checked around the store a little. He was tall for fourteen, I noticed. "And, we don't have any lutes here, not nice ones anyway. They're just your basic, learning lutes, the cheap kind; not for people like you and I."

"Well, thanks I suppose, but you and I are nothing alike." I sighed. I turned slowly to leave when Lars called,

"Wait! My shift is over now, the khajiit caravans ought to have something nice, I can take you there." He looked hopeful for a moment before I dismissed him, barely looking as the feeling fleeted his face.

"Thanks for the advice. But it's only one, and the store doesn't close till eight," I said, almost out the door.

"Yeah, but—"

"I can find the caravans myself, I reckon."

* * *

_3_ _rd_ _of Frostfall, 4E 207_

_Runa,_

_I got your gift! It's beautiful, I promise. And no, once again, I have not found any secret love affairs within the Battle-Born, Grey-Mane rivalry, nor will I, so stop asking!_

_Anyhow, Lars is as horrible as ever, but apparently Minette or Mina or someone is coming back into town in a month. She's his age, and I've only heard good things about her. 'Flirty but kind-hearted' is what was said about her. Perhaps I'll make a friend after all._

_I finally visited the Temple. I believe it's the most beautiful one I've ever seen. It is located in the wind district of Whiterun. There are several lavender bushes around the area and some stone benches to the southwest and around the big, dead tree to the southeast. The main doors open into the square where that tree is._   _Around the outside of the central room are a series of wooden benches with three healing altars around a tiled central area with a large raised cross mosaic in the floor and shallow water filling the areas between the legs of the cross. At the healing altar, I found a sickly farmer and a wounded soldier. They moaned and groaned in pain, and I felt guilty when I looked away. The sick and injured are treated and prayed over by Danica Pure-Spring and Acolyte Jenssen. Health potions litter the room and there is lavender everywhere. The light flows into the Temple and it's bright and everything glows._

_In the middle of the northwest wall is a narrow table with a Shrine of Kynareth on top. To the southwest there are two semi-partitioned areas separated by the entrance, one with a wooden bench, the other a small bedroom with a single bed and a narrow table with strongbox underneath and several goblets and plates. To the northeast is another semi-partitioned area with another single bed with an end table beside it. The furniture is simple, but it is pleasant. Along the northeast wall is a small wardrobe with more bowls, goblets and a plate on top, with a bookshelf with dozens of healing potions and many books about the divines and medicine._

_Danica is an old Nord woman who was probably beautiful once. I asked her if she was a Priestess here and she said, "Indeed. The temple here in the city is my charge. The goddess's divine blessings have no doubt helped make Whiterun a thriving and prosperous city. After all, it is she who brings rain to our crops and fair weather on the harvest days." Then I asked her,_

_"_ _The war… has it impacted you much?" (I asked as she tended to the wounded soldier)_

_"_ _Somewhat, yes. At first it seemed a distant thing, heard only in the idle speech of guards and traders. When the wounded soldiers began to return from battle, I did what I could to help them. As more of the sick and injured came to the temple, my work as a healer became more important than my duties as a priestess. I wish only an end to the fighting, so that I can tend to the temple once more."_

_Acolyte is a master at restoration and he has promised to teach me, if I'll help them tend to the wounded. I said yes of course; there's nothing else I'd see myself doing._

_I forgot to ask about the dead tree, but I probably will in a couple days._

_Write soon,_   
_Loralei_

* * *

"What are you reading?" he asked calmly, casting a shadow over me. It was a beautiful day out, one of the last, I'd predicted. I'd been left on break from the Temple and decided to sit outside and read while the sun was still out.

"16 Accords of Madness," I replied. His face was dark and his body was outlined in the sunlight.

"Oh, lovely, which one?" he asked, taking a seat next to me. I flinched as the sunlight returned to me.

"This is the sixth," I held up the book for him. He took it, running his finger up the spine.

"It's a fine copy. I've only read the ninth and twelfth. Hircine never interested me much,"

To my surprise, we proceeded to speak for a while about the series and our interest in Shegorath before a figure casted a shadow over us once more. She was petite, with dark skin with short black hair.

"Look at this," she sneered. "Two little milk-drinkers reading  _books_." I gaped, frozen. I felt as if I should retort, but I could only look at the girl in surprise.

"I'm  _not_  a milk-drinker," Lars pronounced, throwing the book in my lap and standing up.

"That's not what your father says, now is it?" Lars clenched his hands into fists and marched away. The girl turned to me and I wondered if the scowl was permanently etched onto her face. "And you. You stay away from him. He's not yours."

"I don't think he belongs to anyone," I managed to retort. She looked as if she would grab me and throw me to the ground and kick me senseless, but I was saved.

"Loralei, dear, we need you once more," Danica called, appearing out of nowhere. "Oh, hello Braith dear, how may we help you?"

"Sod off," Braith spat before marching away.

* * *

It was the 6th of Sun's Dusk when I felt the power within me.

Whiterun was beginning to grow cold, a cool chill leaping around in the air. I felt Goosebumps rise up my arms as I stepped outside of Breezehome. It was close to noon and I was late to the Temple. I pulled my coat tightly around me as I made my way towards the Wind District. I was just short of running, nearly pushing people as I marched past the townsfolk. The lack of sun in the past two weeks had brought paleness to the skin and hollowness to the eyes of most people, me among them. It was a dreadful sight, and I loathed the thought of the upcoming winter.

The temple lacked its usual brightness when I walked in, the light brought in from the windows doing naught to help. My boots clicked as I traversed the estate until I found Danica with the wounded farmer. He looked worse than before, I noticed. He was pale as a ghost and it looked as though his skin was being stretched too far to cover his bones. His eyes were open, and dry. He had brown eyes, but they were not warm or the colour of chestnut that I had once been familiar with. They were worn and dead, like the colour of parched dirt.

Danica's eyes were closed, her breath steady and controlled. Her hands were placed on his torso, glowing golden. I could almost hear the tingling. Even being close to her magic made my bones tickle.

Jenssen was tending to a soldier. The soldier was different from the one before, only arriving three days ago with his arms broken in three places and a sprained angle. Bruises coloured the soldier's pale face, marking him purple and blue.

"You're late," Jenssen said to me, pouring some healing potion into the soldier's mouth. The soldier swallowed, eyeing me. I tried to ignore him as I searched for an excuse to tell Jenssen, but the Priest sighed before I could say anything. Laying the soldier down, Jenssen gestured for me to follow him. The soldier grunted as we left him behind.

Jenssen led me to the room with his bed, striding over to the wash basin to clean his hands. "Close the door, child," he commanded me. It shut with a click.

Jenssen was a simple, if not handsome man. His face was scarred from a burn, but his face was beautified with hard lines, a sharp chin and a straight nose. His face was long and his mouth narrow, but it suited him. With his dark, shoulder length hair which was pulled away from his face and his full goatee, I could imagine him as one of the divines; or maybe some Daedric Prince, with a dark allure and sparkling green eyes. It was almost a shame that he had chosen to be a priest, dressed in simple orange robes, rather strong shimmering steel.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I began, trying not to falter. I blushed shamelessly as he sat on a discarded chair, observing me.

"As long as it is not repeated, it's fine. We've much work to do, Loralei."

"We do?" I asked stupidly.

"Yes." He paused momentarily before looking to the ground. "Dark days are ahead of us. Though Alduin has been defeated, the dangers of the war are only beginning to unfold. There will be an attack on Whiterun soon… the Jarl has chosen a side," I gaped. I had not been informed.

"Which side?" I questioned, biting my lip. I wondered which I wanted him to have chosen. I thought of Runa. I thought of mother, the Battle-Borns.

"Jarl Balgruuf the Great has put his confidence in the Empire it seems, and the Stormcloaks will be heading here soon. We will need as many healers as we can get. After this battle, many more are sure to ensue. I'm afraid that for a war that has been going on for so long, it has not yet truly commenced." I gulped and somehow managed to nod.

I did not know much of the war, but at the age of twelve, pictures and concepts were beginning to form. I had read about war, heard about it, talked about it. I was born in the middle of a war, but never had I lived through it. I'd never been at the scene of an attack; I'd never seen someone die before my eyes. Death seemed to haunt me since Onmund, but never had I dreamed I would witness it.

I wanted to help, I knew I had somehow already agreed to, but I was scared. I did not believe that I was capable of bringing a man on the brink of death back to life. I didn't think I'd be able to stand it if I failed either.

I continued to gnaw at my lip as Jenssen stood up from his chair and moved towards me. He was not much taller than me. He was shorter than Lars, though I was not sure why I thought to compared them. Perhaps Jenssen had some Breton blood in him. It would have also explain the darkness of his hair.

"There are books and spell tomes you will need to study, but the art—the  _magic_ —of restoration comes from the body. The magicka that comes from the soul—that comes from the divines—needs to be taught by oneself.

"The College of Restoration is not considered one of the great arts by the Mages Guild, but it can be, and has proven to be one of the most useful. Restoration gives the ability to heal, to restore, and fortify. It can cure diseases, restore lost vitality. Restoration works to augment strength, endurance, intelligence, agility, and other bodily attributes. With Restoration, wards are conjured to protect, healing hands are used to save. Restoration has become a necessity to this world of danger and death, and here we are trained to use it well; to use it properly.

"If you are comfortable, I would like to teach you a simple  _Healing_ spell." I nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed. I'd never considered being a mage, even for healing purposes. I thought perhaps I would learn alchemy to create healing potions, or how to give blessings, but I'd never considered the idea of accessing my inner magicka, speaking to the divines through magic. I wondered if Onmund would be proud.

Jenssen took my hands gently into his and led me to the middle of the room. He held my fingers in his palms. His hands were cold, hard. He looked at me, his eyes digging into my skin, my eyes, my bones.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. I might have been trembling as I looked up at his scarred face. I realised now that he was not burned, at least not from the outside. I could see the outline of his veins, dark and black. I had the strange urge to trace them with my fingertips. I wondered if he was born like that, I wondered if it continued down his neck. I wondered if his skin was thin or if his veins were thick.

"How did that happen to you?" I didn't realise I had asked until after. I would have scolded myself, had I not been so curious to know.

"My face?" he asked me. He looked slightly thrown off. Maybe irritated; I was too distracted to tell.

"Yes," I found myself responding. "You don't need to answer if you don't want to," I rushed to assure him, my eyes growing wide as I began to realise my rudeness.

"No, I'll tell you," he began. He swallowed, not dropping his gaze. "I was burnt."

"But—"

"No, not with fire." I cocked my head, trying to put the pieces together. "I was burnt from the inside. I was a reckless boy, a cocky boy. When I first felt magic within me, I had lost control of myself. There was a loss I faced. I tried to  _fix_  it. But what I didn't realise is that when it is done, there is scare one can do… even me— _especially_  me. I was young and foolish and I thought I could do anything. I ended up outspending my own magicka, and it nearly killed me…"

"But you are so good at restoration now," I commented. Tracing his veins with my eyes some more.

"I have learned patience. The body needs time to heal. So did I, it seemed." He straightened and I found nothing I could answer, nothing I could ask as the acolyte squeezed my fingers into his palms. My nails dug into his skin, though he did not seem to notice. He breathed in and closed his eyes. He let out his breath slowly before speaking. We were close enough so that I could feel the warmth blow onto me.

"Close your eyes, Loralei, and breathe." I did as told. "Empty your thoughts." I remember thinking of how cold his hands were. Somehow, I found myself thinking of brown eyes, going from warm and chestnut to dry and dead. I nearly shivered. Then I thought of blue eyes and green eyes. "Listen to me, Loralei. Do as I say." I imagined the thoughts as pieces of paper. I imagined them burning, going up in flames. I watched as they crumpled. I extinguished the fire. "Better. Now concentrate only on your own body. I need you to picture your bones. Your flesh, the hairs on your head; your eyelashes. I want you to travel through the blood in your veins. I want you to picture vines or water or wind entwining around your bones and your veins and through all your muscles. Do you feel it?"

I did. I felt his hands grow warm from my own touch. I felt tingles circling around me. I could feel my heart beat strengthen and my senses vibrate. I had to concentrate so hard that it hurt my brain, but still I continued. I felt more alert, more aware of my body and I could feel it fortify.

When I opened my eyes, I expected to snap back into reality, to have the feeling taken away from me. Instead, I felt better, healthier. I felt more alert, but my body and my brain felt strained. I noticed my deadly grip on Jenssen and immediately released his hands.

"How do you feel?" he asked as he pulled his hands away.

"Restored," I grinned. He chuckled before patting my head.

"Such a youngling, you have a long way to go!" I smiled as he moved towards his bookshelf. He pulled out four books and handed them to me. " _Cantillon's Correspondence_ ,  _Journal of Thracius Mento, Notes of Racial Phylogeny,_ and  _Rituals of the Harmonious Masters_. Read them, study them. Come back learned, come back better. But for now, go help Danica."

* * *

"Loralei!" Mother called, gesturing to the boy who'd just taken a seat by the table near the door. I rolled my eyes at his curly head. I trudged over to him, trying to force a smile on my face. Ever since early Evening Star when Ysolda had left to do trades down South, mother had been very overwhelmed with the evenings at the inn, so Belrand and I had been helping around. Usually I would play my lute while Belrand waited on tables and cooked, but Mother had recently hired a new bard. I hadn't paid attention to his name, though it started with an M. Now, Belrand worked only as cook and I was forced to spend my evenings waiting on touchy men and cranky women.

"We've got food and drink," I said to the boy in front of me. Ever since this new change, I'd been seeing him quite often around this time of night.

"I'll have a sweetroll and ale, please." He said, flashing his dimples.

"Don't you get sick of having the same thing every single night?"

"Well, I'm flattered you noticed." He winked. I tried not to gag. I also tried not to blush. I succeeded with neither. He seemed amused by both.

"Anyway, that will be seven gold." He handed me ten.

"Keep the change," he said, leaning back in his chair. I handed him the ale I'd brought with me as M finished his song to applause.

"Now, this is a Whiterun classic, I want all of you to sing with me!" he said. My ears perked up as I listened to the chorus. I felt strange as I glanced along the gathered crowd, laughing and drinking. My heart thumped in my chest as they all began to dance and sing, filling the inn with noise and joy. Beside me, Lars raised his glass as he joined in. I managed a small smile as I too joined in, leaving to go fetch Lars' sweet.

" _OH! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!"_

* * *

_1_ _st_ _of Morning Star, 4E 208_

_Dear Runa,_

_I hope you have had a wonderful new and old life celebration! I don't believe I've ever seen so many drunk Nords in one place! They really know how to celebrate here._

_Can you believe it's a new year already? Also, I met Mila Valentia. She's very sweet, but she is best friends with Lars, which means she can't be very good._

_I miss and love you,_

_Loralei_

* * *

Snow suited Whiterun. The white substance fell daintily into our hair and piled heavily onto roofs. Green did not suit Whiterun. This city was meant for snow, it seemed. And though it was cold and the sky was white, no one really seemed to mind this Winter. White was meant to litter the streets of Whiterun.

Red was not.

* * *

The battle came on the 21st of Morning Star. They attacked at night, surprising us all. The streets were barricaded and the children crying. The Wind District swelled with fire, though the tree remained untouched. The White city had reeked of death and wet blood, and I felt like vomiting as I ran through it all. Lydia, Belrand and Elaira fought somewhere, all against the attacking Stormcloaks. I had been told not to leave Breezehome, but I knew I had duties as a healer. Men fell at my feet, they swung their swords too close to me. They yelled and they swore and they said their last words as I ran passed them, fearing for this city, fearing for my family and fearing for myself.

I tore off my cloak as I entered the temple. Bodies littered the ground, and I had to move out of the way as familiar faces brought in more.

"Heal, clean and send out," Danica told me, handing me a basket full of medicine and potions.

* * *

The first was a young man in his early twenties. Clean shaven and youthful, he would bear the long scar on his face forever. "Tobias," he said his name was. He smiled at me, his two front teeth chipped. I tried to smile back as he told me of his mother and his lover. They both had red hair. When I healed him, he grabbed his sword and shield and returned to battle, nodding to me in thanks.

* * *

The second was a woman. She was strong and powerful. She cried into my shoulder as I tried to make her pain go away. She cried out for her brother and her mother and she dug her fingernails into my shoulder. Her wails were harsh and loud and I tried not to cry with her. She asked for my name. "Loralei," I whispered. "Please," she begged me. I was sorry I could not answer. She wasn't allowed to return to battle without her left arm.

* * *

The third died in my arms. I felt guilty as I looked away. I should have memorized his face. I should have asked his name. I didn't. He had muttered his last words to me, and his family would ask them from me later. But I didn't listen to his last moments, and I wondered if he knew. I stood up and moved on to the next body, praying it wouldn't go limp in my lap.

* * *

Thirty more came through the doors of the Temple. I wondered what we would do with all the bodies. Only fourteen survived. Only six fought again.

* * *

Jarl Balgruuf was gravely wounded. But the Imperials won and gained control. The Stormcloaks retreated with whatever men they had left, leaving the white city red and broken.

* * *

The Jarl died the first day of Sun's Dawn. His body was burned for the whole town to witness. All his children wept. Even the bastard.

* * *

The council was assembled not three days later, and Frothar was elected Jarl. He requested only a private ceremony. Mother attended. She came home and said to me, "He'll make us proud."

"He has already," Belrand said, taking Elaira's hand. I wondered if I was interrupting their moment. But he turned to me and extended his hand. "You did well, my child." I took his hand. And then I took my mother's.

* * *

The rest of the winter was spent repairing the city, and praying and healing. Battles were far apart, but they were harmful and soldiers died from both sides. I saw many men and many women die before me. I learned to pray for them on their deathbeds. They deserved that, at least. I said the same thing each time.

"May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

* * *

Mila was pretty. But she was not attractive like her mother and not beautiful like Runa. Her hair was a beautiful chestnut, each strand always perfectly in place. Her eyes were like dark, melted chocolate. Her smile was more of a grin, the epitome of devious.

On the third of Rain's Hand, Mila looked exceptionally pretty. Though the winter was still holding on to the city and the snow still fell, she wore only a loose garment and her hair was pulled back, revealing her long, elegant neck. Her lips were redder than normal and her eyes daintily bored.

"Do you work here every day?" she asked me, her eyes fluttering. I had been shovelling the snow from the pathway near the temple.

"Yes, I do," I replied. She swayed towards me, her hands behind her back.

"It's a great service you do, healing men and women at the temple," she slurred. "It's very  _noble_."

"Thank you," I said, smiling nervously at the girl. I continued shoveling, hoping she would go away. I found myself quite intimidated from the older girl.

"It's no issue! Though, I must tell you, you ought to take a break!" I gawped, not quite knowing how to respond. "See: me and Lars, we both work hard—I help my mother at her vegetable stand and he… what I mean to say is that we all  _deserve_ a break!"

"A break…?" I said questioningly, twiddling with my skirt. Mila laughed at me and nodded happily. I didn't think in times of war there was time for 'breaks', but I did not give voice to the thought.

"At midnight, meet me at the stables, alright?" Apprehensively, I nodded. I wondered if this was a good idea. Probably not… but I was afraid to say no.

* * *

The midnight air was crisp, and the wind felt sharp against my face. The snow crunched under my boots and my hands were shoved into the pockets of my cloak. I cursed myself for not wearing gloves. It had only stopped snowing an hour ago, though it made no difference. It was probably even colder now.

Mila was leaning against the post near the front of the stables. She seemed calm and I noticed she was not shivering like I was. She must have been cold though, for as I approached, I noticed her cheeks were red and her nose redder. She had a nice nose, I noticed; pointed, straight and symmetrical. I didn't think it was possible to envy a nose.

"Though I'm flattered by your staring, there's no time for wasting!" I flushed and blinked, stumbling for an apology. I had not realised I was staring. She laughed and assured, "I'm only joking; you shouldn't take what I say too seriously. So are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" I asked, looking around us. No one was out here, only the guard or two, lazily patrolling.

"To go riding, of course!" she smiled at me reassuringly, as she looked past me for a moment. "Okay, so when that guard turns the corner, we'll have a few seconds before the other comes back around."

"Wait—what?"

"We're going to borrow these horses," Mila gestured behind her.

"But—that's  _stealing_!" I pleaded. "And—and I have a horse!" Mila shushed me, looking around.

"Then go get her, meet me at the Honningbrew Meadery! Go—go now!"

As quietly as I could manage, I ran to Birdie's stall, and mounted her. I hurried her out of the stall, awaiting nothing.

* * *

Minutes later, I arrived at the Meadery, and soon enough Mila was there too, mounted on a brown steed, laughing hysterically. "What a thrill!" she said to me, and I giggled with her. We spent hours traversing the hold, laughing and racing, and I questioned many things.

* * *

The world was more beautiful at night. Under the stars and the shield of night, the world became less like a road towards a destination and more like the destination itself. We fell asleep by a river, freezing in the night air, but we didn't care. We woke at dawn and Mila returned the horse without an issue.

* * *

"Mila told me what you both did last week," he said, accepting the ale I handed to him. His brown hair had grown longer and darker over the winter. His eyes were the same.

"What of it?" I asked cautiously, hoping Mother would not overhear.

"Well, all I'm saying is you don't have to do that," I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't do anything wrong," I assured him.

"That's not what I'm saying. What I mean is that Mila wouldn't have minded if you said no,"

"But I  _wanted_  to say yes," I replied. I was growing irritated with him. He knew nothing about me. And what happened with Mila and I would make no difference to me. But he looked at me, he blue eyes both inquisitive and knowing. I blushed, and grew doubtful of myself. Still looking at me, he took a sip of ale. I tried not to falter under his gaze. I turned around and left, holding onto as much dignity as I could.

* * *

"I'm dying," the soldier said. His hair was red, though not from birth, and his eyes were dark grey. His voice was loud once, maybe strong. It was weak and raspy now, as he tried to say his last words. "Child, please… sing me to Sovngarde." His eyes pleaded with me as I slowly removed my hands from his chest, moving one up to stroke his hair. It was still damp with blood. He closed his eyes, as I lulled him into eternal slumber. I hoped he dreamed well.

"May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

* * *

"A little birdie told me it was your birthday today," he said a stupid grin marking his face. I damned those dimples to hell. Scoffing, I shoved past him. I had been running an errand for Danica, and though it was not urgent, I had learned not to waste time, especially not for him.

But the boy followed me, matching my quickening pace. "I got you a present," he said. I looked onward, ignoring him. "Do you want to see it?"

"No thank you, I don't like gifts."

I thanked the gods for the Temple, coming quickly into sight.

"Oh come on, you'll like it!" I didn't respond to him as I opened the doors to the Temple and proceeded inside. "Well, I'll give it to you later then. See you at dinner!"

* * *

_28_ _th_ _of Rain's Hand, 4E 208_

_Dear Lorie,_

_Happy birthday! I know you won't receive this until tomorrow, but it would feel weird writing it before your actual birthday. I hope you have a ton of fun! I'll celebrate here for you, so you know you're loved even here in Riften._

_This gift I've enclosed isn't as expensive as the one you got me, but I figured you had more use for it anyways._

_I was playing one night, when a strange man who was staying for the night gave me this stone thing. 'Olava's Token' he called it. He told me that if I ever found myself in Whiterun, I should give it to some old hag called Olava and she'd talk to me and stuff. It's weird, but I hope you find it useful!_

_Cheers! To a thousand more birthdays!_

_Yours,  
Runa_

* * *

"Is that an Amulet of Kynareth?" Belrand asked, drinking some tea by the fire. I'd just come home from the temple, and I felt exhaustion. There had recently been another battle, and healing today had taken all of my energy. "Did one of the Priestesses give it to you?"

"No," I corrected, plopping down on the bench across from him. I wondered if I looked as bad as I felt. Judging from the look on Belrand's face, I probably did.

"Then who?" he questioned, filling up another mug with tea. I accepted as I slurred out an answer.

"A friend."

"Oh don't start keeping secrets now, my dear. I don't think I'm ready to deal with boys yet!" Sleepily I chuckled, taking a small sip of tea. It was bitter, but it was nice.

"Not a boy," I started, " _Lars_." Belrand roared with laughter, and even though I knew it wasn't that funny, he didn't seem to mind. I chuckled with him, my body warming from the heat of my mug.

* * *

He told me stories as we drank our tea, and though I knew I was tired, I stayed up and I listened and I laughed.

I needed it more than sleep, it seemed.

* * *

Summer came late in Whiterun; it was only in mid Sun's Height that the snow had disappeared and the sun had come out. The war had gone into a lull once more, and at the temple of Kynareth, we spent more time praying instead of healing. We would kneel in front of the shrine, our hoods drawn up and our hands on our Amulets, and we would let Kynareth's sermon flow through us. In our silent prayers, we would think of the wind and the earth, of Kynareth's tears. There was no preaching and there were no rules. We would kneel, and put our hands on our Amulets and we would try to understand the power within it. The language spoke through me in soft, thrumming fluency and I wondered what I was praying for.


	7. If there is harm

"What's the burning of King Olaf?" I asked, twiddling my string taffy between my fingers. We all sat at Dragonsreach, in Dagny's large bedroom. We were all gathered to celebrate Dagny's sixteenth birthday. I was still full and sleepy from the earlier feast. Dagny and I sat on the bed while Lars sat at the table, making birds with folded paper. Mila looked through Dagny's wardrobe, casually pulling out dresses to examine them. The room was large and octagonal, windows lining the walls freely. The moon was high in the sky, stars shining brightly.

"It's like a ceremony that the Bard's College perform up in Solitude." Mila sat, half distracted by the satin garb in front of her. Judging from the lack of material, it must have been quite scandalous. I blushed as Mila turned to Dagny, holding it to her body, posing obscenely.

"You  _must_  have heard of it! Weren't you born in Solitude?" Dagny added, leaning over to snatch the garment from Mila, who laughed devilishly.

"Well, no I haven't. Not that I remember at least."

"I suppose you were quite young when the High King died… when was that? 200?" Dagny continued, after discarding the piece of fabric to the other side of the room.

"201," Lars corrected, tossing one of his paper birds at Mila. She caught it and crumpled it, receiving a teasing scowl from Lars.

"Yeah, Elisif thought it was a disrespectful ritual after that," Mila continued, pulling up a chair at Lars' table.

" _High Queen_  Elisif," Lars corrected, plopping some taffy into his mouth.

"She's no High Queen," Mila scoffed, "she's hardly even Jarl!"

"Well, she will be, once this war is won," Dagny defended, assured.

"If it ever is," I scoffed, leaning into Dagny's feather pillow.

"Oh! Don't speak like that. All I was saying was that we should go to the damned ritual now that Elisif has decided to bring it back! All upperclassmen go!" Dagny proclaimed, folding her hands in her lap.

"Well then, count  _me_  out," muttered Mila bitterly. "We barely made enough coin for  _firewood_  this winter!"

" _Obviously_ ," started Dagny matter-of-factly, "we would take you with us!" Mila sneered, redness rising in her face.

"I'm not a charity case!" she snapped, suddenly jumping from her chair. Dagny only rolled her eyes, unfazed as she reached for a sweetroll. Lars only looked uncomfortable.

"Don't be like that." Dagny rolled her eyes. "You  _know_  that's not what we meant. The reason we want you there is because you're—well, you're  _you._  We wouldn't have bothered otherwise." She ripped a piece of her sweetroll. "I don't  _do_  charity."

* * *

"We should play a game," Mila suggested, eyes bright with mischief. Lars chuckled and Dagny scoffed in response.

"Games are for  _children_ ," Dagny pronounced, sitting up from her bed. "I'm to have my name celebration soon!"

"Sure, but you're surrounded by a thirteen year old, and two fifteen year olds!" Lars protested, leaning against the bed.

"You've invited the company of the utterly young and foolish, I'm afraid," Mila tested. "This is a democracy, you don't have a choice!"

" _Actually_ , this is a monarchy," Dagny corrected, "and I am the queen!" We giggled at this, but we all knew Mila wouldn't stop.

"Well, if you  _want_  to be a milk-drinker," Mila tested once more, receiving a chuckle from both Lars and I.

"Oh please, that doesn't offend me. The brave are stupid, and the selfless are losers is what I say!"

Somehow, I found myself agreeing with her as I said,

"Milk is good for bones." I snuggled deeply into my pillow as my audience laughed in response.

"We might as well have Braith for company," whined Mila before turning out the last torch. I fell quickly into slumber, lulled by the soft whispering between Mila and Lars. They were too close for comfort, it seemed, but I didn't think either minded.

* * *

"Married?" Mother said, surprised. "Oh no, the Battle-Borns are a very ancient and rich clan. I doubt they would marry their son to any lower-middle-class girl."

It was nearing midnight in early Heart-Fire, and I was helping mother clean up. There wasn't too much of a mess, but the absence of Belrand was noted. His cleaning abilities were quite impressive, and rather shocking. That night, he found himself camping with the Drunken Huntsmen. They would probably arrive back two nights from now with two barrels of fish and enough game to last the winter. If meat and fish didn't go bad so quickly, I doubt the town would have minded.

"But Lars and Mila would be a good match," I argued, tossing more empty bottles into my bag. We would have to send them back to Riften to be refilled. I was surprised Mother didn't offer to go herself. She spoke of home often.

"Sometimes it does not matter," she replied, pushing in the bar stools. I flinched at the horrible groaning the friction of wood moving over wood made.

"That never stopped you," I retorted. Perhaps I had said it with bitterness in my heart and maybe my words, but Mother only laughed, throwing a clean rag my way.

She looked quite beautiful in mid laugh, her wide smile scrunching her eyes and her freckles brightening. Her laugh sounded expensive; erratic, like a rare treat only those who would appreciate it got to hear. She laughed a lot with Belrand, I remembered. I wondered if he felt rich.

"Oh hush child, and go clean the cooking pot, the gods know you made a mess of it tonight," she commanded, returning to scrubbing the counter. "Damn that old man, leaving us without a cook!"

"I still make better cakes than  _you_ , Mum." She smiled at me, and I stared at her. It could have been just a moment, or it could have been four. I probably looked dumb, standing there staring at my mother, but I was almost baffled. Her red hair was in complete disarray. It was long now, a few inches past her waist. It was clipped back, an attempt to keep the curls away from her face. She was flushed and sweaty, and wearing a cheap dress, her sleeves rolled up half way and her corset loose. Her apron was stained and smeared from tonight and from the many nights previous.

I remembered her standing clad in armour many years before, shrouded in black. I remember seeing her bow, and its intricate curves, its nimble beauty. I thought of the warrior she was, and of the hundreds of people she had killed, how many  _things_  she had killed. I recalled her war paint, smeared and old as she hunched over that dreadful black box, of it painted across her eyes on her second wedding day. I wondered if she'd worn it on her third.

I looked at her and I thought of all the forms of her I had witnessed throughout my life, and I thought and wondered about the ones I'd never seen. I looked at her, smiling and happy and I wondered if this was who she really was. I wondered if this was who I wanted her to be.

* * *

_20_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 208_

**_Loralei the first_** _  
_Yet to be named, No clan  
 _Heir to Thane Elaira_  
(Solitude as of 4E 194, Whiterun as of 4E 206)

_This is an official invitation to attend Torygg's Ball, located at the Blue Palace, Solitude for the first of Frostfire, 4E 208 at twenty hours._

_In celebration of what would have been King Torygg's fortieth birthday, High Queen Elisif is hosting a masquerade ball in his honour. All attendants shall dress accordingly._

_Miss Loralei and her mother (who has received a separate invitation), are invited to stay at the Blue Palace as guests to the Queen, her household, and the other special guests._

_Cordially yours,  
_ _ **Falk Firebeard**_ _,  
_ first of his name,  
 _Steward of High Queen Elisif the Fair_

* * *

Mother travelled with Belrand, and the adults of the Battle-Born clan travelled together, so as was expected, I was left to travel with the leftovers; Lars BattleBorn and the Bastard of Balgruuf. I met them at the stables, my luggage in hand. Mother had left the hour before, in her personal carriage brought over from the estate in Falkreath, and she had left me with money and warnings. Against my pleas, Mother had told Lydia to stay in Whiterun to run the inn in our absence. Ysolda had returned more refined and more learned, but Mother had insisted Lydia stay anyway.

I tried not to be bitter as I sat on the bench near the stables, awaiting my companion. The bastard stood, petting the horses of the carriage we were to take, having not said a word to me. He was taller since the last I'd seen him many months ago. He had left to travel some, doing gods-know-what, but he had come back older, having grown into his homely features. Still not handsome by any means, he was not ugly. Even I had to admit his features were striking, his pointed chin and refined angles his best accessories.

Cool breezes swirled around my fall skirts, making them dance with the wind erratically. I sighed theatrically before slouching into the back of the bench, pulling my hat down my head. It had probably cost a thousand coins, but I did not see why. Mother had told me to wear the current fashion for the Royal court, and this stiff black hat accessorized with a large bow had apparently been just that. I thought it foolish impractical. It hardly blocked the wind, and my ears were cold, unprotected from my hair which had been pinned back so tightly it felt like my face had been lifted.

To say this arrangement was irritating was to say the least. The discomfort I felt with the bastard and the discomfort this ridiculous, itchy outfit bestowed upon me, plus that godforsaken boy that chose the windiest day in fall to be late was making me reconsider going at all. Balls were not typically my definition of fun, but I had never really been to one, and I had had to remind myself not to judge so quickly before saying no. And I had been desperate to escape the hold, and even if it meant returning to Solitude to socialize with rich, royal-toe-sucking adults and their spawn.

I almost spat at Lars' feet when he finally arrived, a dumb grin on his face as he offered to haul up my bags. I cursed myself for having failed earlier. He merely smiled at the scowl on my face as he tossed them in, before letting the bastard go in first.

"After you," he said waving me in when I waited awkwardly for him to enter the carriage. At least the carriage was nice, I had to remind myself as Lars steadied my elbow and I stepped in. I decided to sit next to Nelkir. At least he didn't talk, let alone smile.

"So, how are you this morning?" Lars asked politely as we began to move.

"It's nearly afternoon," I reminded him as courteously as I could manage. I resisted the urge to adjust my hat.

"Yes, sorry about that," Lars continued. "My friend Olava had me for tea this morning. It was completely unplanned, I swear." I didn't even attempt to stop the roll of my eyes, until I felt recognition.

"Olava?" I repeated, trying to remember where I'd heard that name.

"Yes, she's that old lady who can see the future," Lars told me. He somehow managed to look smug. "I've known her for quite some time, you see. She makes nice tea."

"Belrand makes good tea," I commented quietly, surprised at myself.

"Your father?" Lars questioned, looking through his bag for something.

"My mother's husband."

"Ahh," he said, pulling out some fruit, offering to both me and the bastard, who looked out the window quietly, hardly noticing the gesture. "Elaira the Wife, the infamous Dragonborn of Legend." I chuckled at this but stopped quickly when I noticed the twinkle in his eyes.

"Hush you! That's my mother you speak of!" He laughed now, and I felt both dirty and rich as I smiled back at him.

* * *

I had apparently drifted into sleep by the rime the carriage rolled up to the Solitude stables. I was woken only by a hand placed firmly on my arm. "We're here," Nelkir said, shaking me softly from my slumber. I blinked unfashionably before I could keep my eyes fully open. I glanced outside the carriage window and saw that the sky was dark and the moon hung high.

I shivered slightly as I stepped out of the carriage, adjusting my cloak around me. It was warmer in Solitude than in Whiterun, but the chill of the night air sent goosebumps down my neck nonetheless. Handing me my bag, Lars asked, "My family has been invited to stay at the Palace—you know, being such big supporters of the empire or whatever. Are you staying there?"

"That was the plan," I muttered.

"Well, I'm probably going stay at the Inn; I doubt the court will be too pleased to receive guests at this hour, it's near an hour past midnight."

"I have a manor here, I'll sleep there I guess." He nodded, the dim torchlight shading every crease of his face.

"I forgot you used to live here," he added, shuffling on his feet. Turning to Nelkir, he remembered his courtesies. "Nelkir, where will you be staying?"

"The Inn," he said curtly, eyeing Lars strangely. "Our escort should be here shortly."

* * *

Solitude was dimly lit, though better lit than Whiterun had been the night I'd first arrived. My shoes clicked familiarly as I walked up the long city. I tried not to let my eyes explore my surrounding, focusing only on what was in front of me. The night air was quiet, even the inn, which was always so rowdy, found itself quiet, sleep overcoming all.

The air was fresh and with each intake of breath I felt the coldness revive my lungs. My breath spouted out of my mouth in what seemed like hot clouds, and I felt like a child as I observed it with such curiosity. It was not the first time I could see the soft puffs of warm breath connecting with the cold air of winter, but I couldn't help but wonder in fascination.

My escort walked me all the way to the front doors of Proudspire Manor, his armor clinking softly as he gave me a curt bow. "Goodnight, young Loralei, and welcome back to Solitude," he said before heading back to wherever it was he was needed. I turned back to the manor and lit the candles on either side of the door in front of me. It seemed smaller than I remembered, and simpler than I had probably made it out to be. The handle was rusting, and the loud  _click_  the key produced made me flinch. The door opened with a loud creek, sending shivers down my spine. Closing the door behind me, I lit the candles nearest to me.

The light did not do much to relieve the room, and I could not see much. I tried to remember how it had looked before; I tried to fill in the blanks. I felt a soft urge to run my fingers along the stone tables and wooden chairs, to touch the dusty tomes mother had stuffed into unsteady bookshelves. It felt like instinct to stride over to the fire and put on a cooking pot to make some stew. It felt like a strange, unforgiving pull for me to run upstairs into my mother's bedroom and sit with my brother between our mother and our father. I felt like picking up the broom I had probably set down somewhere in the basement and begin sweeping the floors, hoping to please Father, hoping to save Lydia the trouble. But as my eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof, I saw emptiness. Cobwebs lined the ceilings and six years' worth of dust had sheeted every surface in the area. Only a few forgettable tomes rested sadly on the wooden shelves, forever left behind. Vases which once bloomed with herbs and flowers and berries were now empty. Warmth and love and all the good and steady things I had thought I'd left with Proudspire Manor were gone. Or perhaps they had not been there in the first place.

* * *

The looking glass before me was tall and elegant; its frame made of ivory and carved by some talent's hand. I figured it must have cost a fortune. Or maybe it was an heirloom, or it had been a gift or had just come with the palace.

"You look beautiful," Mother said, her smile wide yet unsure. Her red locks were done up nicely, in the new fashion: tall and dramatic. Runa would have cooed.

"Thank you," I muttered, looking at myself rather curiously. My dress had not been made special for me, as there was not much time for such arrangements, but I thought it fitted well. Though the corset was tight, it was far more comfortable than the garment I had arrived in. The skirt was wide, but simple, a yellow-cream colour decorated in embroidered designs, all lined with tiny pearls. The neck was rather low, and my breasts were not fully covered, but it was done tastefully and simply. Mother had told me that the mask would be the main event in the outfit, that the dress should not be the first thing one sees. I was thankful for that, and I was happy with the dress mother had chosen for me. I rather liked its simplicity and refined elegance. I would surely blend in with all the others, not too extravagant, nor too plain.

Cocking my head at the reflection before me, I managed a smile. Mother had offered paint for my lips, but I decided against it, thinking I would look foolish to wear paint so young. Mother handed me my mask, and I held it up to my face. Its pearly and feathery extravagance was masked by the soft gold and white colours.

"Have you ever been to a ball before?" I asked, looking at mother from the mirror.

"In another life," she said, smiling to herself like a girl with a secret.

* * *

There was an orchestra of bards performing, and the music was booming and loud. The dancing was swift and formal and the food was refined. I talked and I might have flirted, but I did not care. I laughed shamelessly and I thought of many things; of many people, the ones who were not here. Onmund would have danced with everyone and Hroar would have floated and gloated in the attention he would have sure gotten from the pretty girls. Torygg would have cried.

I would bring Runa next year, I reminded myself later that night. I thought of her when our song was played.

* * *

"You look better without the mask," Lars commented once, before taking my hand for a dance. He was a terrible dancer, but he seemed not to mind when I told him so. I wondered if I preferred him with or without the mask, before scolding myself for the thought. I was afraid he could read my mind when he grinned wider and twirled me once more. I suppose I didn't really care.

* * *

I waited outside the door of Vittoria Vicci's house the morning before leaving the city. I was on time I knew. In the years that I lived as her neighbour, she had always left her house at the exact same time, never more than two minutes late. But I had been waiting for ten minutes now, debating whether I should knock for the last five.

I had decided to walk to Temple with her, like we had done so many times before. I longed for her endless chatter. I wanted to hear of her wedding, of her marriage, of her plans, of all the petty little gossip she just couldn't help but share. I wanted to listen to her complain about the East Empire Company and its highs and lows. I wanted to sit next to her in that temple with high ceilings and pretty windows, and feel my heart lower as the room fell silent for the sermons of the Eight to begin.

But when I knocked and no one greeted me at the door, I felt my heart lower not from anticipation but from something else entirely.

* * *

I lay Blue Mountain Flowers on three graves that day.

* * *

I believe in destiny. I know that every person in the world was built and made and shipped off into this cruel world for a purpose. Whether it is to save the world or to write a song; whether it is to serve as secondary characters in another's life, we all have something. But I also believe that some flee from their destinies. Though I trust that there is fate, there is destiny; I know that the future is still infinite. I know that tomorrow, anything can happen, that we don't know where we'll be ten years from now, we don't know if we will even  _be_. The future is scary because it is new and it is unknown. It is endless and ruthless and no one understands it.

Human beings want to know, we  _want_  to understand. We hate being out of loop of the universe, of the government, of our town drama. It is our nature to seek more, always more. The more we learn the more we want to find out. With every answer come a million more questions. It is universally frustrating not knowing what may or may not happen. We don't know how or when we will die. We don't know if we will find love or die alone. We don't know if one day we'll find ourselves somewhere other than home. We don't know where home will be a week, a day from now. But is it not better this way? Are human beings too naïve, too young, too selfish to know the many truths and the many lies of the universe? Is the future beyond us? Is the knowledge of our own future a danger to us?

* * *

If you had the chance to know of your future, would you take it? Would you take the opportunity to learn the date of your death, the cause? Would you want to know who your soulmate is? Would you take the opportunity to glimpse at your children's faces before they were even conceived? If your whole future could be laid out in front of you on a canvas or a puzzle with all its pieces in place, would you look?

If you wouldn't, would you spend your whole life wondering if that prophecy you chose not to prophesise was right? Would you spend your life wondering if you would have lived differently? Would that fear of the unknown triple itself until you couldn't live life without thinking,  _I could have known_? Would you look at your spouse and wonder if it was really meant to be? Would you lay in your deathbed thinking,  _am I doing this right_?

If you would look, would you live your life in fear of the inevitable? Would you be forced to live your life in expectation, just waiting for your love? Would it all end up a disappointment? If you learned that you would die from the plague, would you not do everything to avoid your death? If you learned you would watch your lover perish, would you bother loving at all? Would this change your destiny, or would it lead you to it?

Would either answers change this prophecy, this destiny?

These questions were the reasons that humans weren't allowed the choice in the first place.

Except, there I sat on that day in the middle of Frostfall, in front of Olava the Feeble, her eyes peerless as they looked through mine.

* * *

What she told me that day seems unimportant now. Maybe it was some great prophecy of how my life would unfold, and maybe it would show me my destiny and all the great things I was designed to do. But it never seemed to change anything. Whether or not I ever fell in love or had children, or forgave those who wronged me didn't matter to me. I didn't care for the big changes, the big cracks and wounds. I cared about the little winds and the calm shifts. I cared about the songs that became something more than a song. I cared about the colours of flowers, and the drumbeat of the anvil. I cared about secret glances and youthful kisses. I cared about scars and bruises and the fortification of healing. I cared about my ears which were my father's, and my eyes which were my mother's.

What Olava the Feeble told me was nothing but things I had long ago forgiven. What Olava the Feeble taught me was nothing at all.

* * *

But did it change my destiny?

I don't know.

* * *

It was late in Sun's Dusk, 4E 208 when Mother and Lydia went to go on some adventure or another for a few days. Ysolda had left for yet another journey with the trading caravans; but taking care of the inn wasn't too bad. Recently, Mother had hired Olfina Gray-Mane, much to my surprise. She had a strange kind of beauty that I admired. She had hair so light that it was almost silver. Her eyes were bright and green and much like my own. She was strong and elegant at the same time.

That night during Sun's Dusk, she'd come up to me, after I'd handed Lars his drink and sweet. Her look was sweet and sincere as she smiled at me encouragingly.

"It's not easy being a woman in Skyrim, I know," she said, handing me a bottle of aged ale. "But stay strong and men will come to respect you, and maybe even fear you." I smiled at her apprehensively. "It's not too busy, take the shift off."

As I took a sip of my ale, Olfina turned around. Jon Battle-Born stood in front of her however, and she halted, surprised.

"So I'm, uh... writing a song for you..." he began, a shy little smile playing at his lips. I tried to be discreet as I observed them.

"Why, Jon Battle-Born," Olfina exclaimed, putting a hand dramatically to her chest. "You're writing me a song? Does it somehow involve blood, or beheadings, or the honor of my forebears?" Jon smiled, laughing quietly.

"Well, that's where I started." He paused, somewhat unsure. "But it turned into something of a ballad."

"A ballad? Oh, now I know you're joking with me," Olfina said, sarcasm dripping from her mouth.

"It's all true, I swear it," Jon pleaded. "You can hear it when it's done. I'll just need a year or two to smooth the rough edges."

"Ha! I thought as much." Olfina exclaimed. I could hear the smile in her voice. "So, have you spoken to that man from the Bards College yet?"

"No, not yet. But I will. I just haven't... gotten around to it yet." Jon said slowly.

"Oh Jon, stop dallying. You know you have to go. It's why Mara put you on this earth." she leaned in a little closer, and my ears strained to listen. "You think a few miles can truly keep us apart?"

"You mean you won't forget about me the moment I'm out of sight? Get yourself a nice old rich husband, have sixteen babies?"

"Tsk. You've uncovered my master plan. Now I suppose you'll never leave." Olfina sighed dramatically as Jon chuckled.

"Harlot." He paused before leaning in close, after inspecting to see no one was looking. "I want to see you when you're done working."

"I can't. Not tonight. I need to go home. I swear, my father is starting to suspect something." Olfina said worriedly, shifting slightly.

"That's your imagination running wild. Nobody knows how we feel about each other."

"Don't talk about my father like that, Jon. And the answer's still no. But tomorrow. Definitely." She began to walk away, but I was careful to notice the note passed to Jon.

* * *

"Alarik the Liar," said the man. He had dark hair, messy hair but a fair complexion. His eyes were dark blue and sorrowful. He was young, just a young man of two-and-twenty. His arm was in a sling and bruises lined his torso to his jaw. He sat upright, leaning against the wall, his legs laying limp in front of him.

"Why do they call you that?" I asked, calmly stirring his pain potion.

"I spent two years as a Stormcloak spy," he said, monotone. Since we had told him he could never walk again, he seemed motionless. Lifeless.

"That's interesting," I commented, handing him my concoction. He drank it in on swing of his good arm.

"Doesn't matter now," he muttered. "Shouldn't you be out there? Celebrating?"

"I've had many Old and New Life festivals and I will see more." I responded, checking his bandages.

"So? Why are you here?" he demanded, scowling at me.

"I didn't want you to be alone," In a moment, Alarik the Liar was crying, his wails soft and silent as I stroked his hair to calm him. I tried to imagine him a child, laughing with his brothers and sisters, running about. I imagined his father, patting him on the shoulder. I imagined his mother, crying into his shoulder, begging him not to leave for war. I wondered what he pictured. I wondered what he would do now. I prayed to the divines he would find his way; but with no legs, I couldn't help but wonder how he would travel his path.

* * *

Winter of 4E 209 was much like the year before, with snow heavy and lingering peace. The war was beginning to pick up again, though only few attacks affected the Whiterun Hold. I treated many wounded men and women with magic, with medicine, and with patience. The city was temporarily influenced by a plague they called the Violet Death. The sickness turned people's veins into a dark colour, almost purple seen from the surface of the skin. However, that only lasted for a month and a bit, dying out once the cure was found. Lavender, mixed with snowberries turned into a tea healed the remaining sick seamlessly.

* * *

It was one winter morning when I was woken by a sleepy Elaira, who said, "Wake up, child, some boy wants to see you," before sauntering back up the stairs.

Lars sat lazily on the living room bench, dressed in a thick black cloak, a large saber-skinned hat and mittens, most likely sewn by his grandmother. Mila stood quietly by the doorway, stifling a loud yawn as I approached, still in my nightgown. Mila's cloak was thin, and her gloves had holes, but she seemed not to mind.

"Good morning," I managed, as Lars and Mila tiredly watched me approach.

"'Morning," Mila said, yawning again.

"What are you both doing here? And what time is it?" I questioned, surprisingly defensive.

"The sun has been up for about two hours now, so I'd say seven or eight," Lars replied, stretching, tiredly.

"And we're here to invite—well  _force_  you to play with us." Mila added, peeling herself from the wall to stand next to Lars. "It was  _his_  idea,"

"Well, don't you think it would be fun to play in untouched snow? We could build forts or snowfolk or have a snow fight!"

"We're nearing adulthood," I began, feeling quite irritated. "I haven't  _played_  in a very long time."

"You sound like Dagny," Mila groaned. I figured early mornings were not her thing.

"You really do! And if we really are bordering on adulthood, then we should make fun out of the time we have left as respectable children," Lars smiled convincingly. I scoffed, but relented, leaving to fetch my cloak.

* * *

And so it was, twenty minutes later, I was outside the tall walls of Whiterun, soaking in cold wetness and laughing hysterically as Mila and I threw balls of snow at a laughing Lars. I wondered if I would have a fun like this again. I wondered if when we grew up, if when our names were bestowed upon us, we would have to grow up in ways growing taller never changed us. I hoped not, but I couldn't help but see that childhood was fleeting, stolen in the fury of time, and joy was fading, stolen in the rage of war.

But then I thought of mother who could still laugh for hours, laugh and laugh until her insides hurt. I thought of Belrand who could always find things to smile about, even if they were just previous smiles or memories. I thought of Balimund and the soothing he found in steel and heat and fire. I thought of that grey skin and her stable boy, how she could giggle in the delight of blossoming love. I thought of Lars' father, and how his blood rushed and his words unfurled in the talk of battle. I thought of all the smiles and laughing and all the wrinkles and scars and it was a wonder to find that they all coincided, curling perfectly together in tight, resilient knots.

* * *

_23_ _rd_ _of First Seed, 4E 209_

_Runa,_

_I miss you, and hope the last couple weeks have been good to you. I got your letter last week, and I hope you'll forgive my tardiness._

_I've been busy at the temple, there have been a few recent attacks near here, and I'm worried the Stormcloaks will attack Whiterun once again. We've still not fully reconstructed from the last time. The war seems endless, and I treat man after man, woman after woman, all wounded in war and battle and I worry that they will not be the same again. My greatest hope is that the Stormcloaks surrender, and no more deaths or injuries are to be had. I'm sick of seeing illness and unease, I'm tired of watching people stumble into eternal slumber._

_I was glad to hear things are happy in Riften, and I'm glad to hear you're satisfied with the Battle-Born, Gray-Mane love affair._

_Write soon please,  
Loralei_

_P.S. You must sing me this song you're writing the next time we meet._

* * *

Spring crept into Whiterun like a thousand little spiders, and by my birthday, the snow had already cleared, and the harvests were blooming like an evening primrose, welcoming the fresh air of nighttime.

My birthday celebration was held at the Bannered Mare, a large cake as center piece. The cake had been decorated by my mother, Lydia, and Olfina, and it tasted like love and sweetness.

Jon Battle-Born joined in with the man whose name I never learned to sing me songs unto the dawn.

I danced with Belrand, laughing as he twirled me around and around until I nearly tripped on my skirt. I laughed with those Nords who were too blunt and too drunk. I gossiped with the girls who always had juicy tales to tell and secrets hidden beneath their fingernails. I played cards with the old men, and I sang soft songs to the old ladies. I talked and I laughed and sputtered quite a bit and I tried to ignore that red-haired woman who leaned on the bar counter, her expression both blank and misty, veiled with sadness. I only let my eyes linger as she twiddled with the blue flower in her hand and thought of the son who happened to be born first.

I wondered if she thought of what the world stole from him; from her.

* * *

Second Seed was a nice month, with as low as zero unhealthy or dead. I stood in front of that large dead tree after our meditations, and I looked sadly up at it. I wondered how long it had been since it was alive. I wondered if there was still life within it, a small weak heartbeat that was too stubborn with age and the ways of the old to really let go. I wondered what this tree had seen, what it had witnessed, now and before. I wondered if it had seen someone's first kiss, someone's first kill. I wondered how many wanderers it had met, how many sinners I had blessed.

Slowly, I stepped towards this beautiful dead thing, and moved my hands, connecting my young, soft skin to its rough, old bark. I closed my eyes, and I tried to summon the magic within my veins, within my own life. The warmth tingled through me, like tiny little calming shocks, rushing upwards to read the surface of my skin. My vitality, my strength, my life. My gods, my dreams and my spirit. They all slowly peeled themselves from their hold on my bones, my veins, and drifted towards my fingertips.

There was a soft whisper, or maybe a hum; a heartbeat of sorts, rhythm told through vibration. I smiled, opening my eyes as I removed my hands from the tree. My vitality snapped back into me like an elastic band, sending one hard shock through my body. I had to take a moment to steady myself before my senses took hold over my body once again.

* * *

"That tree, that big, dead one," I began, as we sipped our potions in the temple, soft slurps echoing in the silence. "What is it?"

"The Gildergreen, it's called. It's a bit of an eyesore at the moment. More of a problem for the pilgrims than for me, but not many of them are around anymore. See, a big dead tree isn't very inspiring if you're coming to worship the divine of wind and rains. Kynareth gives life, and a living tree needs to be her symbol," she said, taking silent sips of her potion, closing her eyes as it warmed her throat.

"What is it, though? Why not tear it down?" I asked, finishing the last honeyed gulps of the potion.

"To the east of here is a hidden grove where the Eldergleam resides. It's the oldest living thing in Skyrim. Maybe all of Tamriel. Our tree here in the city was grown from a cutting of that tree. You can still feel the glory of the mother tree through it." She looked to nowhere for a moment her eyes full of something… religion or faith or rain.

"I know that the Gildergreen isn't beautiful to the eyes of the onlooker, that's it's just a big, dead tree that haunts Whiterun… but I know it is not gone, not gone like those believe it to be…" She looked me in the eyes now, both assuredly and pleading. "Trees like this never really die." She paused to blink, letting her eyes stay shut for a moment too long. Maybe she thought. Maybe she prayed. "They only slumber."

* * *

"Must you go camping again?" said Elaira, irritation and pleading in her voice. Her husband chastely kissed her on the mouth before whispering something in her ear. She blushed and I looked away.

This was the second time in Mid-Year Belrand had left to go hunting, much to my mother's dismay. She smiled at him however, ever the doting wife. She adjusted his collar, before kissing him on the cheek for good luck.

Kissing me on the forehead goodbye, Belrand was gone.

I felt like this was something I'd gone through before. Some strange déja-vu which only led to disaster.

I wasn't surprised though. Bad things happen when people leave.

I only hoped that he would return.

* * *

On the third night after Belrand left, I heard noises from outside my bedroom door. Voices, familiar voices that sent shivers down my spine. I probably should have ignored those voices, and I most likely would have, if they had not made me think that strange, unforgivable things were happening. Getting up, and pressing my ear against the door, I strained to hear them properly.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice thin, like a tissue being stretched, ripping slowly at the pull.

"I needed to see ye lass." A strange accent. I closed my eyes at the recognition.

"I told you why I left!" she said desperately, as if it were too much. "Don't do this to me, you know I don't want this."

"Want  _what_ , Elaira?!" There was a pause. A long, drawn out moment of things from the past and questions left unanswered.

" _You._ " It was heavy and uncomfortable and a lie that would have been successful if I had not known her for so long, if I did not know that if she were telling the truth, they wouldn't be there in the first place; in this house, with her husband away and her child seemingly fast asleep; with this man who managed to change everything. He seemed to know this too.

"You promised me you'd never tell me lies," he said, his voice tense, the words thick and overwrought.

"I've made a lot of promises in my life," was all she responded.

"I  _love you_." It was quick and it was sudden and I couldn't tell if the emotions thick in the air were heavy or hot or just uncomfortable. I closed my eyes and breathed in thinly, the soft smell of old wood filling my senses.

I crawled back into my bed, forcing myself to concentrate on my breaths. I tried not to be curious about her response. I wondered if she'd given him that hard look, and said to him steadily, " _I_  don't." I wondered if she started sobbing, sobbing and sobbing until she hiccupped. I wondered if she grabbed him by the neck and kissed him into Oblivion, her hands running through his hair. I wondered if she would slap him, flared in red hot anger and tell him to leave. I wondered if she had just stared at him, dumbstruck, furious, passionate all at the same time. I wonder if that was truly what it felt like: to be loved… to love in return.

* * *

That night did not go forgotten, and I stared in wonder as Elaira welcomed her husband home, welcoming him into her bed.

* * *

I tried to spot a difference with her; I tried to see how that night might have changed her. I looked to her freckles and wondered if the pattern had somehow changed. I looked at her flush and wondered if it was because of the thoughts she had for that red-haired man. I searched for marks along her skin that had not been there before; for love bites, for nail marks. But I found none. I found nothing at all and I began to wonder if it had only been a dream.

* * *

The Battle-Borns threw Elaira a birthday feast for her thirty-ninth birthday. I wished her happy birthday and I kissed her cheek, and I wondered who'd kissed her there before. Her husband, her father, her lover. I blushed in shame at the thought, and hoped no one noticed.

* * *

She vomited the feast the next morning, and I wondered if she'd had too much ale, or the milk had gone sour. I held her hair as she hurled and heaved, and I let her head rest against my shoulders as tears fled down her face from the pain and bile ran down her chin.

* * *

The beginning of Heart-Fire brought Elaira to the temple with sickness. She lay on a cot, pale and nauseous. She had been ill for a week now, and it made me ever so nervous. Danica's hands rested on Elaira's core, closing her eyes in soft concentration. I stood, holding my mother's hand as she did her best to keep her breathing steady. But when a smile crept onto Danica's face, I knew my mother was not ill.

Danica opened her eyes, and I watched as she touched Elaira's face, maternally, fondly.

"What is it?" Mother demanded, looking at Danica worriedly, demanding direct answers. My heart beat wildly, and I could feel it low in my body, thrumming in my belly. Danica leaned in close, her eyes twinkling with delight.

"A child."

"Pardon?" Mother replied, confused. My heart dropped even lower, pounded even harder. I felt my blood rush from my toes to my head and back again. I was afraid I would collapse right then and there.

"A life grows within you," Danica clarified. Mother's eyes widened and she looked to me for council. I squeezed her hand and I managed a reassuring smile, before she turned back to Danica, a smile to match my own. My smile faltered as she looked away from me, and I found myself clenching onto her hand, my knuckles changing to white. Mother seemed not to notice in her joyful confusion. "Kynareth bless both your souls."

* * *


	8. Blessed you shall be

I'd never really seen it as a possibility. Never had it occurred to me that my mother would conceive another child. I once imagined my life with Hroar, growing up together, sharing toys like we would share memories. I imagined us aging and learning, never being too far from each other. Once, I thought it would always be me, running into my father's embrace, and him, running for my mother's. I always figured that he was my brother, my kin and the only one I would come to know.

Even after Hroar and Father's deaths, I never imagined Mother would have another child. It made me feel strange and sick to think another part of me was quickening in her womb. A different part of me wondered if the child was born from Hroar's soul, from his great willingness and stubbornness and curiosity for our mother. A small inkling of a feeling creeping on my insides that told me that he had come back to save her-to save me. Most of that was ignorant hope, because I missed my brother and I wanted him to live amongst the living, to breathe the same air, to see the same sun.

I was afraid too. As the days and years passed, the more I began to forget, the more I learned to ignore. The details were always there; I could remember his face perfectly, I could remember the rhythm of his laugh and the heat of his small palm. But it was becoming harder and harder to feel him beside me; the instinct to look for him, to grab his hand disappearing. Knowing he did not see what I did, knowing he had no more to say, no more questions to ask was easy. He was becoming lost and gone once more and it frightened me.

A part of me believed mother was scared as well, that she too was struggling to keep hold of Hroar, her boy, her son. But the bigger more imposing part of me knew that she could never forget his face, his warmth, his laugh. He still clung onto her skin like he had always before, and maybe that was why she was scared. Maybe that was why she was sad.

I wondered if it would be easier for her to forget. To forget Hroar and Onmund and even me. Would it lift a million burdens if she could just wash away all those memories, the good and the bad, all the ones that made her sad? But she would never forget Hroar or me or all her mistakes, and neither would I. I prayed the child would not suffer for it.

* * *

I couldn't decide if this was joyous news. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around this concept, this child. I tried to imagine myself living in a house with a nursery across the hall, a wrinkly baby wailing for his mother's teat. I tried to think of all the horrible, tiresome things a child brought to the world. I tried to imagine the good things: watching him or her take their first steps, growing up, learning. I thought of all the boring, mediocre things that would happen, like eating at the dinner table, another unfamiliar face at the table. I tried thinking of my mother slowly rocking the child to sleep, the baby's soft little breathing. I tried so hard to force its life into the imaginings of mine, but I couldn't. In these imaginations, this child was not a part of me. This baby was not my blood, my bones, my sibling. It was just a baby and I watched through misted, uncaring, resentful eyes as it grew and loved and learned.

* * *

Belrand, on the other hand, was bouncing with joy. He hugged mother and me so tightly when he heard of the news, I swore he would break our bones. He kissed my mother's belly and leaped with such happiness, that the whole inn turned to look. They were applauded and blessed and mother cried and I was left to wonder why.

Belrand took to planning at once, something Mother and I could only laugh about.

"A new house, we need a new house!" he pronounced. "I'll build it with my own two hands," he promised, taking my mother's hands to kiss them. He turned to me with that young, hopeful grin that had somehow, somewhere become so beautiful. I smiled back at him, letting him know it was okay, but when he turned back to his wife and the child inside her, I was left to envy the assurance I had given him.

In the first few days of Heart-Fire, he chopped wood, creating a large pile just ready for construction. He sanded and he carved and the crib was built by the end of the first week. It was a small little wooden bassinet with carvings of horses and bears and hearts. The wood was smooth and cherry-coloured, it was strong and steady. It made me hopeful. It made mother cry. When I took her into my arms and told her, "This child will be so loved," she only cried even harder, wetting my shoulder with her tears, bruising my skin with her hold on my arms.

* * *

Sometimes I caught my mother in the kitchen, sipping on some syrup, or on the upstairs landing, resting her head on her hand. She would stare off into the distance, her green eyes gleaming like a tree in the spring, and slowly she would rub her hand across her belly, sighing softly at the moment. They were not special moments, but they were moments I was not meant to be a part of. I and even the gods were intrusions.

Though it was no place of mine to ponder these secret moments, I wondered anyway. I wondered if she thought of Onmund or only Belrand. Sometimes I even dared to wonder if she thought of me.

* * *

Through the weeks, Mother still found herself sickly now and again, every few days, near the end of Heart-Fire. Belrand and I would do the best we could to manage the household without her, and Lydia did her part as she always had. She'd grown older over the past two years, I noticed. Her hair was streaked with grey and her eyes lined with age.

One day, when Mother was too sick to even eat or puke or cry, Lydia stayed in bed with her. From the crack in the open door, I watched as Lydia stroked Mother's hair. After a moment of nothing, she leaned over to whisper so silently I could barely hear. "He will be a Spring child." I didn't think it helped at all.

* * *

"You know what I heard?" she asked, her face ugly and smug.

"What did you hear, Braith?" I asked, wanting to banish her into Oblivion. I damned restoration in that moment; it was useless in situations like these, for people like her.

"That the foul creature in your slag Mother's body isn't that ugly old man's."

"And who do you suppose was its sire?" I answered dryly. I tried to let her words mean nothing as thoughts of red and false elixir filled my head.

"A  _daedra_ ," Braith slurred, venom in her voice.

"Are you sure it wasn't you then?" a voice retorted. I hadn't even noticed Lars come up to us. Her face contorting, Braith spat at my feet before sending him a glare. She was quick to retreat when it came to Lars, I noticed. I thought to smile at him in thanks, but I didn't. Instead I looked to the ground and stayed rooted to my spot. Through the corner of my vision, I could see him hesitate and shift, extending his arm as if to touch me or embrace me. He did neither as he backed away, leaving wordlessly.

* * *

"Mother," I began cautiously, approaching her. She sat upright in her bed, placing a book to the side as I hovered near the bed. "Can I ask you something?" She sighed dramatically, giving me a strange, wide-eyed look.

"Don't you dare ask me where babies come from," she replied, serious. I giggled lightly at this, deciding to take a seat on the edge of her bed.

"No, mother, you needn't worry about that. I was just-"

"Well, out with it then!"

"Are you happy?" She frowned, evaluating.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, child."

"About this pregnancy," I clarified. There was a long dreadful moment where neither of us spoke, and I was afraid she wouldn't answer. She breathed deeply before awkwardly reached for my hand. I let her have it, examining her face for signs. Any at all.

"I am thirty-nine years old, married to a man much older than I. I have lived a long life, a sad life and a happy one. I raised one child, in hopes of raising two. I've taken three husbands now, and I have houses all over Skyrim. I defeated Alduin, I saved the world. I've taken all I can already from this world, and I've given it everything. It took me a while to accept this—this conclusion, but I have. I have welcomed it. All I wanted now was to finish raising you, to watch you live your life from the sidelines. I was ready to grow old with Belrand, not my only, but my last love.

"I was happy disappearing into nothingness. I was happy to have made my legacy, and to have moved on from it. The lives I lived were many but they were over, and I was ready to be done.

"But now… I have a life inside of me, and it feels as though the gods were not yet ready to let me be and let me die. There is a child that grows within me, feeding on my blood, my food, my breath. And I know it means I am that much farther from completion. I know I am that much farther from—from  _Hroar_." She stopped and swallowed, dropping her gaze. Her downcast eyes shifted widely, before she let out a breathy, frantic laugh. " _Gods_ , it's been so long since I've said his name." I held my breath and squeezed her hand. She leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. Her body was heavy against mine, but I learned to support it as my hand grew sweaty against hers. She did not cry like I thought she would. She only closed her eyes tightly as she whispered his name over and over and over until she could say it no more.

* * *

I did cry when I reached my room. I closed the door behind me and fell onto my bed, trying to muffle my sobs into the pillow. I tried not to resent the baby, but I couldn't help it; not when I had been given a chance by the graces of the gods or the graces of Mother herself. She had been ready to stay and go at the same time. She had been ready to hold her breath to let others breathe, to let me breathe. The winds that had been learning to soften into a breeze were picking up again and I couldn't blame the gods and I couldn't blame my mother; I could only blame the life within her womb that refused to let the dust settle.

Crying into my pillow, I begged the gods to give me mercy, I begged them for forgiveness for whatever crimes I had committed, I begged them to absolve the sins of my mother. I asked Hroar's soul to understand that we didn't need him; not now, not here. We didn't need his face or his laugh or his presence. Not anymore. It had been too long and too painful and perhaps it had been too long and too painful for him too, but no, no, no, he couldn't come back, not like this.

I asked even Father, who I never asked a thing. I begged him to let the world be as it should and I apologized for being so selfish in my request.

I sobbed and I prayed until my eyes and words were dry and I fell asleep.

That night I dreamed of the Gildergreen, and its mother, who was always so far away.

* * *

Frostfall came as gracefully as it always had, only the chills of the night to remind us of the coming snows. Mother was still somewhat sickly, but she had proclaimed herself well enough to get back to work. I came back to the temple the same day she returned to the inn.

It was calm that morning, the sun brightly lighting the room through the skylights. The sick beds were empty, and I smiled at that, hoping it was a good sign rather than the very likely calm before the storm. To my surprise, the rest of the temple was empty too, with beds freshly made and no tea in the pot. The clicks of my shoes echoed, the emptiness bouncing off its very walls.

After wandering some more in search for the attendants, I found myself back in the main hall, kneeling for Kynareth. I had done this so many times before, stealing and breathing life into the Amulet hung around my neck. I had given a million thoughts, a million prayers, a million promises. Except, now I could not pray; my mind was blank. I searched for something to thank Her for, something to ask Her for. I searched for things to tell Her, for memories to share with Her. But I found nothing and I wondered why.

It was a long time before my knees started to hurt, aching against the hardness of the floor. There was only a moment of pain before I stood up, holding my Amulet of Kynareth. I looked all around the room, to the ceiling, to the skylights, to the floors to the cracks in the walls. I looked for Her, but she was only lost to me.

* * *

I wondered for a very long time if lost meant gone.

* * *

"Lydia," I called softly. We lounged lazily in her bedroom, eating snacks and chatting. Mother and Belrand were at the Inn, celebrating the Emperor's birthday with the rest of the town.

"Yes, Loralei?" she answered, looking up at me curiously.

"Do you think this is a dream?" She looked at me, tired grey eyes, pondering.

"It's been too many years to be a dream," she answered finally.

"Maybe we just won't ever wake up." She smiled at me and laughed and I wondered why it was funny as I joined her.

* * *

_16th of Frostfall, 4E 209_

_Runa,_

_You are fifteen! Congratulations!_

_Anyhow, you must start planning your name day celebration! Are you going to have it this year or later? In Riften or somewhere else (Whiterun perhaps)? I know most have it at seventeen, but since you've been released from the orphanage, I figure you'll want it sooner?_

_I suppose for now it's unimportant. Happy birthday, my greatest friend, and Gods bless you._

_Love,  
Loralei_

_P.S. Tell Constance that you can leave whenever; your lodgings at the inn are ready!_

* * *

It was the twentieth of Frostfall on a sunny day when Dagny and I strolled through the market square, baskets in hand. We wore our cloaks tied tightly around us, and soft woolen hats covered our ears. I wondered how we must look in our rich attire, strolling around with baskets with nothing better to do. Perhaps the poor rolled their eyes and the middle class just envied us.

The ground was damp from the nighttime showers and the sky was grey and much like Riften's. The leaves still falling to the ground were wet and red and the air smelled like humidity and seasons changing.

"Being Jarl had been difficult for Frothar," Dagny told me, looking tall with her neck outstretched. I looked at my feet as we took small, foolish steps, circling the market stalls over and over. "And the citizens are getting fed up with him, though I don't really know what they expect," she sighed. She was speaking about the leaks. All across the town, houses were damp from perspiration and roofs were beginning to rust and mold and cave in from all the rainwater. The citizens of Whiterun lined up one after another to see Jarl Frothar, complaining about everything that he could not pay to fix.

"Everyone has just grown dependant and lazy," I supplied, taking a bite from the warm bread in my basket. "They could easily find ways to fix their own roofs,"

"Yes, it's quite ridiculous. The Jarl isn't a landlord; people need to take care of their own property. He can't just call in some favours to fix everyone's roofs! The war demands supplies and time and money, and now that we are participating, we can't replace everyone's sweetrolls, cut their firewood and pay for their house repairs!"

"Well, Belrand has fixed as least half a dozen roofs," I told her. He had spent the last two weeks working day and night to fix the houses around us. He probably cut their firewood too, I reckoned. It was just like him, to try and please everyone. It annoyed Mother, however. She was seemingly concerned for him because he was growing old and at night he would complain his back was sore or his fingers cramping. I was also concerned, but I knew Belrand was not just going to sit around while rain collapsed the roofs around us.

"He's a good man, though I don't see why he does it. Each is his own, I guess," Dagny said, approaching the vegetable stand.

"Good morning," Mila said, smiling to us. "What can I get you?"

"Hello Mila," Dagny said, inspecting some red apples. "Pray, what is the cost for the apples?"

"Three gold apiece," Mila said, leaning on the counter, bored.

"By the Eight, that's costly," Dagny said, searching her coin purse anyway. Handing the change to Mila, she asked, "Are the fields so dry this time of year?"

"Sadly," Mila answered, putting the gold into the lockbox below. "Times are tough… we've just had to do our roof,"

"Well, if you need anything, I'm sure Frothar would arrange something," Dagny offered. I sent her a questioning look, though it went ignored. "You and your mother deserve the comfort."

"Thanks Dagny," Mila smiled, and I felt suddenly like I might walk away, leaving the friends.

"You should have just called on Belrand," I said, buying an apple for myself as well. Mila blinked before taking my coin. "He would help any friend without hesitation." Mila chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"He offered, but Mother has her pride. How's yours, by the way? Anything new?"

"No, not particularly. Though, Belrand is still mad with excitement. We'll probably be moving before the child is born, though I'm not sure where."

"Well, hopefully it's close, Whiterun is a wonderful place for children," declared Dagny, taking a small bite from her apple. "Anyhow, Mila, come to Dragonsreach for tea this afternoon, I have something I'd like to discuss with the both of you,"

"Farewell," I said as Dagny and I turned away.

"Stay out of trouble," Mila called, turning her attention to some man with a white beard.

* * *

Tea was sweet and milky, unlike the kind Belrand made for me. Dagny's spoon clicked against the porcelain as she stirred in her cream. We sat at the table in Dagny's room, light shining fashionably through the windows. Whatever Dagny had been planning on telling us was yet to be said, and only light, polite chatter circled between us. As well as Mila's somewhat crude remarks that I knew Dagny secretly adored.

We were speaking calmly about the temple when Mila finally grew impatient.

"So, dearie," Mila interrupted, turning to Dagny with a sly smile. "You obviously didn't bring us here to speak about healing dead soldiers. What was it you wanted to tell us?" Dagny paused and sighed before carefully putting down her tea cup and folding her hands into her lap.

"Well, ladies, I have come to inform you that tomorrow, there will be an announcement… for my betrothal,"

"Pardon?" I exclaimed, nearly choking on my tea. I barely noticed Mila, who gaped in shock, her smile slowly faltering.

"Yes, you heard right. I'm to be married," she said, meeting neither of our eyes. "After Tobias is crowned emperor this winter, we will be married. I'm heading to the Imperial city in a month so we may meet."

"Dagny, this is wondrous news! You will be Empress!" I exclaimed excitedly, nearly spilling my tea in my lap. She painted a smile onto her face and I should have noticed that she avoided Mila's eyes. I suppose I should have noticed Mila, and how she looked at Dagny, with confusion and sadness. And I suppose I should have remembered that confusion and sadness was the formula for heartbreak.

* * *

_28th of Frostfall, 4E 209_

_Loralei,_

_Just letting you know that I'll be taking the carriage to Whiterun on the first of Sun's Dusk. I love you, and I'll see you soon!_

_Runa_

_P.S. I'm going to wait, it seems too soon to have a name._

* * *

Runa arrived the morning of the second and I greeted her at the stables. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than I had left her two years ago. Her blonde hair was plaited tightly, probably Constance's handiwork, and her face was flushed in excitement. She was taller, at least six inches taller than me. Her face seemed slimmer, and I was surprised at how much she had grown up, but I reminded myself that it had been years since we'd last seen each other, and I could only imagine how I had grown and changed into someone I wasn't sure she would recognise.

"I missed you so much," she whispered as she held me tightly, swaying us from side to side as if nothing had really changed at all. She was warm, and her embrace was comfortable and I realised how much I'd missed her. We stood there, swinging from side to side for a very long time, though it felt like not nearly enough when we let go. I helped her with her bags as we walked up to the gates of Whiterun.

* * *

Her room was in the attic of the inn. It was decently spacious, with a comfortable bed and simple furnishings. It wasn't beautiful or mysterious. I wasn't ancient or brand new. I was only bland, a room in the attic of an inn that had long gone unused. But Runa cried when I showed it to her, her bags smacking to the ground as she covered her face. From the doorway I watched and somehow I found myself smiling.

"It's all yours," I told her. She turned around and beamed at me, her face blotchy and red. She was ugly when she cried, but in some ways she looked so beautiful then. She stepped towards me and circled her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she muttered over and over again into my shoulder.

* * *

"When do I get to meet your friends?" Runa asked, fiddling with her bootlaces. They were worn and scuffed and I reminded myself to get her new ones. We sat in her attic room, all alone in the inn, except those who paid to sleep here and that bard who seemed to live here. I had helped Runa unpack, and settle in, though mostly the work went unfinished, as we only talked and played.

"Why would you ever want that?" I teased, placing another one of her garments in the dresser. "Now that you're here I don't even need friends."

"How flattery!" Runa said, smirking. "When did you become so appeasing?" I laughed and tossed a tunic at her.

"Anyway, you'll probably meet Lars and Dagny tomorrow at the feast… and then I'm sure you'll run into Mila; she makes herself known."

"I didn't know there would be a feast! When is it?"

"The day after tomorrow, I think. Mother says the dress maker is coming tomorrow, so prepared to be pricked at." Runa smiled thoughtfully, and I was glad. I was glad she was here, and I was glad that I could make her smile, even if it was because of a dress.

* * *

Taarie was the name of the dress maker. She came from a dress shop in Solitude called the Radiant Raiment. Mother said that she had made dresses for the Jarl and herself for years now, ever since the death of Torygg. Taarie was a tall woman with golden skin and pointed ears. She was an Altmer, a High Elf, as we called them in Skyrim. She was proud and haughty, though not unkind as she critiqued our garb.

"Very plainly, you all dress," she noted, looking Runa and I up and down. She turned to Mother, who wore only a simple dress. "Elaira, how the times have changed!"

Mother clucked her tongue and crossed her arms. "I'm an inn keeper more than a Thane now, Taarie. What I wear matters not, while I'm here. Just concern yourself with the dresses." Taarie sighed and brought out her fabrics.

"You," she called, gesturing to Runa and I. I started to step forward before she held out her hand. "No, the pretty one," she corrected, and I flushed and retreated.

Taarie made Runa a beautiful dinner gown made of red satin and lace. She made mine in blue.

* * *

"Lars, Mila, this is Runa," I introduced, gesturing to my friend. She looked beautiful in her dress, and I couldn't help but look at her enviously. Dagny smiled thinly, looking Runa up and down before saying,

"Good e'en, Runa. That dress is most beautiful." Runa smiled widely and responded,

"Thank you, though it's nothing compared to yours."

"Don't be silly, this is old!" Dagny smiled actually now, never faltering to fall for charm and compliments. "Here, come walk with me before supper." Runa nodded to Lars and I before taking Dagny's arm and walking off.

I turned to Lars. His hair was messy and his shirt a little wrinkled. His eyes were bright, however, and his grin unfaltering.

"Why do you look so disheveled?"

"No reason," he said, running his hand through his hair as he looked around Dragonsreach. "Your friend and Dagny seem to be getting along," he noted. I sighed, and slipped my arm through his. He stiffened only for a second, before relaxing and walking with me to the table.

"I suppose. Runa's always liked all that glamour," I pondered, watching the two pretty girls retreat.

"And you don't?" Lars questioned, looking at me quizzically.

"I just never thought it mattered," I added thoughtlessly as I turned back to look at him.

"That makes you the first," he smiled at me. I thought I would blush or recoil, but I didn't. Instead I let out a soft laugh, and squeezed his arm.

* * *

"When are you planning to have your naming ceremony?" Frothar asked calmly as he ate his dessert. He had been invited to join the adults for a drink, but he decided instead to stay, preferring our company. Nelkir had retreated to his room come time ago, and it seemed I was alone in wondering why. Did he not enjoy Runa's company? Was he sick? When had I begun to care?

"I don't really want one," Runa answered, fiddling with her lava cake. "I don't believe it should be up to someone else to tell me who I am."

"It's tradition," Frothar argued, cocking his head. He looked very young then. "I had mine at fifteen."

"Well, we don't always need to abide by tradition… What's your name?"

"Frothar the Worthy," Dagny answered for him, smiling like the proud sibling I assumed she was.

"That's a fine name," Lars complimented. Frothar smiled boyishly at his friend.

"What do you think you'll be named?" Runa asked the curly-haired boy.

"Lars the Handsome, Lars the Wealthy, perhaps," he answered slyly. I rolled my eyes and suggested,

"Lars the Bigheaded, or Lars the Milk-Drinker perhaps." My audience laughed and I blushed as Lars kicked my foot from under the table.

"Dagny, are you not supposed to be named before you marry?" I asked when the table grew silent. She looked solemn for a moment, before she wiped the gloom off with another thin smile.

"That is Nord tradition, Loralei. I don't believe they have naming ceremonies in Cyrodiil."

"But you're a Nord," Runa offered, furrowing her brows.

"Not for long." Dagny drank from her cup as we all returned to our cakes in silence.

* * *

I never really thought about the future. When I was younger, I suppose I thought I would just get married, tend a farm, and have a few children. Then I had dreamed of princes and warriors, but they were a girls' dream. My dreams now were distorted and flawed, and ambitions and passions and desires never came to me. There was a moment where I thought I'd be a bard, but it had been many years since I'd let that dream go. It never really seemed like I would have to grow up anyhow.

But in the Autumn of 4E 209, I took a fatal look around me and saw that I was wrong. People were growing up all around me, and I was scared.

I saw Dagny say goodbye to her brothers, even the bastard. I watched as she left to make her way to the Imperial city to be wed and to be crowned. I looked at Mila beg her to stay, and in wonder, I saw as Dagny said nothing but an insignificant, insouciant parting word. I watched with m own broken and apathetic heart as Mother, holding hands with her husband, spoke of names for their unborn child. I watched Runa play with that bard for coin, and I saw her flirt with the Jarl of Whiterun, and how she blushed when I said his name. I saw Jon Battle-Born steal a kiss from Olfina in the shadows of the town the night before he went to war, never going to see that man at school for bards.

I looked around me and I saw future become present, and I wondered when mine would meet as well. I tried to picture myself married; I tried to see my husband's face. I tried to think of names I thought were pretty for the children I might someday have. I tried to think of the words I would say to my lover before I went off to war, to give up the dreams that I might have had. I searched for possibilities of a career, a future built by myself. It didn't work; none of it. I was forced to sit in this little, boring, domestic town and watch people grow and learn and say goodbye, while I stayed in my little room in Breezehome, reading the same books over again, the pages smelling more like me than pages left untouched.

* * *

By the beginning of Evening Star, there was a bump beneath Elaira's dress. I had not really noticed it until then. It had been a slow, natural progression into this, and it was a wonder how I had not seen it before. I looked in wonder as Danica's hands traversed the small slope, checking for vitality. It must be strange, carrying life within one's body. To have something, someone nest inside, feeding off your blood, your air, your life.

I cocked my head to the side when Danica said, "A girl."

Belrand smiled, squeezing mother's hand. Elaira only looked at me, as if she was trying to understand something.

* * *

The snow storm came on the twelfth of Evening Star, forcing the town to harbour together in the Bannered Mare, using the fire, the mead, and one another for warmth. It was crowded, many people just lounging lazily on the floor as they huddled closely together. The harsh winds could be heard from the inside, and the door was blocked with snow.

Mother, Olfina and I did our best to serve as quickly as possible, giving out ale and mead and warm tea to as many people as we could manage. As I shivered in my cloak, and did my best to support the heavy tray on my shoulder, I envied Ysolda, and wondered at all the warm places she might be right then.

Belrand was busy in the kitchen, making a large vat of hot stew for the townspeople. It was made from scraps and whatever pheasant and rabbit we had left, but it would warm our bodies and sate our hunger. Runa and that bard whose name I finally learned (Mikael) played songs and lead chants in attempts to cheer the people. Even in the cold and crowded inn, she managed to smile as she played kind songs and told old tales and laughed with all the people of Whiterun.

When the two finished some old folk tale about a lass and her sabre cat, some Nord with a yellow beard yelled, "Another song!" Raising their tankards, the people cheered in agreement, and I snuck to the table near the door, where Lars sat. He handed me a sweetroll and I smiled to him in thanks as I leaned back into my chair.

"Okay, okay, settle down," Runa said. I couldn't see her through the crowd, but I could imagine that proud, satisfied smile on her face. "This next song goes out to the Dragonborn, Saviour of Skyrim, Thane and Inn Keeper!" The crowd erupted in cheers and I looked over to the bar where Mother bowed her head in laughter, her curly hair clinging to her forehead with sweat. Her cheeks were flushed, and her smile wide and pleased.

* * *

Runa sang the Tale of the Tongues, and a storm raged on outside, all while my mother was brought to tears in nostalgia and gratitude. My arms were tired from carrying around heavy bottles and tankards and bringing sweets to hungry men, but I still blushed as Lars watched me sing along with all those men and women and guards and farmers and children.

While everything and everyone around me seemed to be all together, squished into this small space, either too hot or too cold, either too sad or too happy, I stole a long moment to be lost in this song, these people. I was stuck in this loud storm, this long war, this strange life, and somehow it all seemed to be alright anyway. My hair was at an awkward length, my clothes clung to my sweaty body, and I was still cold, but I raised my tankard in my own kind of defiance, cheering and chanting with everyone else because here I was, with everyone and everything and I everything seemed okay. The gods and the winds and my brain told me that it was all a lie, but instead, I chose to believe this song and these people and my heart, who all told me otherwise.

* * *

"Have you decided on a name yet?" I asked, leaning against the counter. It was late in the night of the twentieth of Evening Star, and Mikael played for just a small crowd, most of the citizens having gone to sleep. Runa chatted softly with Frothar by the fire. Frothar's visits to the inn were rare, but as of late, he seemed to be making more frequent appearances.

"No, not yet," Belrand sighed, handing Mother his apron to hang up. She turned to me, absently rubbing her growing bump. "Something Nordic would be good."

"What do you suggest, Loralei?" Mother asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. I thought for a moment as Mikael played softly behind me. I smiled, his familiar song feeling like a million memories.

"Matilda," I offered. I saw as sad and happy and good and bad memories flashed through my mother's own memories. She smiled after a moment though, putting her hand on my own. It was rough now, callused. Her green eyes sparkled with goodness and I wondered if mine reflected her own.

"Matilda," she repeated softly, and I felt like crying and breaking and I wondered if it was good.

* * *

Perhaps it was, I'll never know: because what came after was not.

* * *

With the year 4E 210, came the Brain Rot. Whiterun stunk of death, and that wooden crib lay forgotten by the spring.

* * *

The Hagravens had attacked in the early year, and left many dead from battle. But even when they were gone, the Companions returning to Jorrvaskr with their heads, those dreadful half beings left the Brain Rot disease.

* * *

Belrand had not been the first to contract the disease, but to me and to my mother, the rest seemed not to matter. I wish I could say that he died well, with warmth in his body and a song in his ears, but he didn't. He died on a stone slab in a Temple for the Divines I was not sure he still worshipped. He died frail, incomprehensible, coughing blood and spitting foam. Mother stood by and prayed for him but he died with only me in the room. I couldn't blame her for leaving us. How many times would she have to watch someone die? I hoped never again as I watched him cough to death and I envied her absence as he spit blood on my dress.

* * *

Mother had not been sick from this disease of Hagravens, but it was shock or heartbreak or unbearable memories that brought her to illness. In her sickness she gave birth to that dead baby Matilda on the 1st of Sun's Dawn, only three days after the man with that hopeful grin died.

I supposed I should have felt sadder. But it was times like these that I seemed to only observe from far away, like this was not happening to me at all.

* * *

I stood in the Temple of the Dead, wondering how it was possible to bury a child with its father for a second time. The Blue Petals were not enough to make those dead bodies beautiful. Death never could be.

I clutched onto my Amulet, listening to some sermon of words I would never remember and I thought once more of all the gods had stolen from me. It was the first time I wondered if I had been the one to ask for it.


	9. They shall become one flesh

Twelve days after the funeral service, when Mother was fully recovered, I knew that history would repeat itself. She would leave again, and leave her ever-loyal Housecarl to raise that child who seemed always to haunt her. She would go on adventures, fall in love, save the world. She would find her destiny far, far away where she could be who she  _really_ was: Elaira, that free-willed, beautiful Nord with flowing locks of red hair and an arrow notched and ready to fire. And me? I would let her go with a kiss and a hug and the silence that children were expected to offer.

She would send me letters and gifts, ever the doting mother. She would send her love and convince me that she missed me. She would pretend to worry for my health and my happiness, while she soaked in her own. All the while, I would respond and tell her I was fine. I would not tell her how I was stuck in a town once more; missing her even though I wouldn't want to. I would grow up and move on; I would pray and live.

It would be months later, maybe years that she would feel like returning—she would come and embrace me like I hadn't changed at all. And maybe I wouldn't, but her arms would feel different around me. Her freckles would have changed their pattern somehow; her scent would be scattered. She would be someone new, someone different, and I would wish I could be too, and I would scold myself for saying nothing, and I would wonder at my silence that never seemed to falter.

I was sure that these were the events that were going to occur; because all the signs were pointing towards that end.

* * *

It was the 13th of First Seed, 4E 210 that Mother stood in front of the gates of Whiterun, her inn keeper's apron exchanged for her black armor, and I stood in front of her, ready to let her go with a kiss and a hug and my own silence.

It was a cold, grey day and I thought it was befitting. The winds were sharp and the bare skin of my neck and face were covered in goosebumps. "Goodbye," Mother said to me, before looking to her left expectantly. There Lydia stood clad in that steel armor I hadn't seen her in for years. I frowned, and took a shaky step forward, somehow thinking to grab Lydia.

"Be well, Loralei," Lydia said, not looking at me straight. I took another step forward, more frantic this time. My heart pulsed, and my vision blurred, not from tears but from confusion or heartbreak or other.

"W-what?" I breathed, looking from my mother to my housecarl. "What do you mean?" I gulped, my throat constricted and dry. I grabbed Lydia's arm, but she stayed still as I held onto her.

"Lydia is coming with me." Mother pronounced, looking strangely at me clinging onto Lydia.

"Your Thane Mother has commanded me to join her in Elsweyr," Lydia explained. I shook my head, suddenly very scared. I felt like ripping through Lydia's skin just to make her stay, ripping through my mother's to make her go away. Maybe I could let my mother go with a hug and kiss, but not Lydia, never Lydia.

" _No_ ," I begged. "Don't do this…don't do this to me." My eyes tore between the two women, and my heart strangled as Lydia stood tall, never wavering, never moving, never flinching as I squeezed her arm. " _Don't go!_ "

"I'm not staying here, Loralei! Now get off Lydia!" I released Lydia's arm, and took a step back, careful not to fall. I felt drunk, like my brain was incoherent with what was happening. I shook my head like a mad woman, my hair probably falling loose from its braid.

"Don't go," I repeated, struggling to swallow. Mother looked at me with a scold, disdain showing on her face. She probably thought I was weak, pathetic. She had no empathy for me, no sympathy for someone so apparently dependant, but I wasn't looking at her. "Don't  _go_ ," I whispered, my regard to Lydia. In her eyes I saw guilt and I saw pity and hated her for it. "Don't leave me." I was speaking to Lydia, and Lydia alone, but my mother clucked at the pathos reverberating off me.

"It is my duty and my pleasure to leave." I shook my head. I tried not to believe her. But though I knew she loved me, she loved my mother just as well. And she loved duty and honour and adventure as much as my own mother.

" _See?_  She  _wants_  to leave," Mother taunted: angry, irritated. I ignored her, my eyes hurting from looking at Lydia so hard, from neglecting to blink. I clenched by jaw and let Lydia go.

"Fine, leave then." I sounded tragic, my voice undone by sobs and snot and sadness. "But if you leave, don't you  _ever—_ _ **ever**_  come back!"

I wanted Lydia to turn to my mother and smack her, or even just tell her no. I wanted her to run to my side and take me home, and be my real mother forever. But she only looked at me, for real now, pleading, sad. She looked at me and I swore she was telling herself not to cry.

"It is my duty to protect the Thane Elaira," was all she said. Her voice was strained and hollow. All my life, she had always seemingly been  _enough_ , enough mother and father, angel and guardian. But with these words she shattered those years of love and safety into nothing. I felt like smacking the betrayal off her face.

I wiped my tears quickly, and turned to my mother, feeling anger and discomfort. The hate in my chest soared so high in that moment that I could have raised the angry dead. "I hope I never see you again."

My mother only smiled. She looked old and worn, as if she was too tired for any more games. And maybe she was. Maybe her vitality had been drained from her. Maybe her soul had been ripped from her very bones. But she only had herself and the gods to blame.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

* * *

I didn't stay to watch them leave. I ran home, into my tiny bedroom, and I wished the walls had been enough to kill me the first time.

* * *

"So you really told them to never come back?" Runa said, worry and awe on her pretty face. I nodded, feeling both shame and pride. The two of us were sprawled comfortably around the Breezehome living room, while Mila worked on the fire. It was late in the evening and I'd decided to have Runa and Mila over for the night. Runa had come from the inn, I had come from the Temple, and Mila from her mother's vegetable stand. Carlotta had been growing old and ill and Mila had taken her place at the stall. We were all tired and hungry, but I found comfort being around these two friends. Still, I noticed Dagny's absence, even after the many months since her departure.

"She didn't seem like the type to just get up and go," Mila noted. Runa and I exchanged a knowing look. She snickered, and I smiled thoughtfully.

"You'd be surprised," Runa returned, getting up to fetch Mila some leeks.

"Do tell, darling, I'd love a good story," Mila smirked, setting up the pot on the now stirring fire.

"There's not much to tell," I began, rather dryly. "After my father died, she left and only came back two months later to watch my twin brother die. Then we moved to Riften and she married a good man, then went on this month-long heist with a red-haired man, and then that good man left us. So then she left for two years and came back with a new husband and made me move to Whiterun. And now she's gone again, and she's taken the Housecarl with her."

To my surprise, Mila laughed, shaking her head as she boiled the cow bones. "What a life!" I snickered in return, looking to my hands. They were pale, the lines of my veins rather dark. I wondered if it was the side effects of magic. I wondered if they were just like that naturally.

"Yeah, Elaira's been quite the bitch," Runa said, returning with a basket full of veggies. Mila grinned at this, and shook her head.

"She's not the best person, perhaps, but she must be some kind of traumatized." Runa scoffed, but I thought of what she told me, those years ago, when we were travelling to this plain little city, of the arrow that pierced my father's heart. I thought of her last words to her only son, and I wondered what they were. I thought of how she never got to hold that dead baby Matilda.

"Nah," Runa said, sitting back down. "She's just real shrew at heart." I laughed, but I remembered that book and that pretty little ribbon from so long ago. I thought of her singing me to sleep, and telling me tales from back and back and back. Recalling the burn in my chest, I shoved those thoughts away. It was easier to agree.

"I suppose we'll just have to get on without her—without  _them_ ," I said, standing up to help Mila with the broth.

"Do you think you'll stay here?" Mila asked. Runa began peeling the potatoes, as she looked away, silently awaiting the answer. I knew that my answer would affect her. "You could always stay with us if you want. Ma wouldn't mind."

"There's no point in leaving. Not unless Mother forces us to. I'll take her room." I turned to Runa. She still concentrated on her potato, slicing off its skin slowly, carefully. "If you want, Runa, you can move into Lydia's room." She turned to me now, her face lighting up.

"Do you mean it?" I smiled and nodded. She remembered to put down the knife before she took me into a hug.

* * *

_20_ _th_ _of First Seed, 4E 210_

_Loralei,_

_I have written to Jarl Frothar, and Breezehome now belongs completely to you. Everything left inside and out of that property belongs to you. You will receive, or have already received, the document of ownership._

_I still own all of my previous part of the Inn, but I have it formally that you will receive 50%of the total shares. I have hired a Redguard woman to help Olfina and Ysolda to work at the Inn during my absence. You are free to work there whenever you wish, but you are not obligated. None of that business should interfere with your work at the Temple._

_I've sent you a sum of coins that should be around 5000 septims, though I cannot be sure how much the Empire has collected in taxes._

_The rest is up to you to earn and save. You are on your own. Neither Lydia nor I will bother you again. Live well,_ _my child_ _Loralei._

_Cordially,_ __**  
Elaira Auvrea-Arnith** __  
Thane of Solitude  
Thane of Whiterun  
__**Dragonborn**

I did receive the documents, and the payment, as promised. It was a strange feeling, knowing that these things that were promised were my own, and I did not know why it felt so wrong that it was her who had given them to me. I had never thought to have to earn my own, but I'd never expected for my emancipation to come so easily. It was rather unsatisfying, sitting in my house, along the wooden table, documents laid out for me to review. It seemed too formal, too small of an event to be anything at all.

Wasn't this growing up, becoming one's own, supposed to be some epiphany where you suddenly feel older, more responsible, more fully-grown? Was it not supposed to be brand new, like some strange rebirth? Did I not deserve something with more grandeur, something with more sentiment and nostalgia? Would my childhood, which was so long and demented, just mix in with the rest of life?

I always imagined that life was like a long, intricate staircase, each step a new development, each step a new stage. I always pictured that my own freedom, the  _becoming_ my own would be some sort of platform. But as I sat at that table, where I'd sat for years now, and as I looked blankly at those pages that were supposed to be more, I realised that perhaps my life was just a hill, going up and up, going higher and higher, with no relief or end in sight.

* * *

Rain's Hand was rather warm, though the snow still littered the ground, and at night the chill would return, and I would pray for those without a blanket. On a particular day in the beginning of the month, I found myself playing chess with Lars in Dragonsreach, while Runa drank tea with the rest of the Jarl's party. I assumed I was not the only one to notice as she sat to the right of the Jarl, their chairs not inches apart. Nelkir stood next to some strange man who leaned on the rail, looking down at Whiterun Hold. He stood stiffly, with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Another strange girl of about sixteen, who had come from the west of Skyrim, sat amongst the Battle-Borns and the Jarl. She sat somewhat far away, looking enviously at Runa. The girl was pretty, though unexceptional. She did well to hide the flaw, dressing herself in fine linens and expensive jewels. She had introduced herself as Mae, of the Greysong clan. I had never heard of them, but Lars had whispered, "Old, honour, pride," and I knew that she would not interest me much. Still, it had been Lars who had excused the both of us from tea on the great porch, to play a 'friendly' (Lars was a competitive oaf) game of chess.

The game had never made sense to me, though Mila could win in two turns. She and Lars had tried to teach me plenty of times, though to no avail. I reminded myself that for Mila's next birthday, I'd have glass chess pieces made for her.

"You know why they call this place Dragonsreach, don't you?" Lars said; looking around the porch as I tried to remember the moves each chess piece could make.

"Of course I do. It's all some people talk about around here," I said, moving a random piece and hoping it was legal. Apparently it had been. Lars took his turn, claiming one of my pawns. He was holding back. Or maybe he wasn't, it's not like I could tell.

"I can't believe your mother trapped a dragon in here, and then  _rode it!_ " he said, in awed amusement. "I mean, I'm not scared of much, but you gotta be some kind of brave to ride a dragon."

"Or just plain stupid," I noted, taking my turn again.

"Sometimes people have to be stupid to be brave," Lars told me, all seriousness as he made his move.

"How wise," I grinned, rolling my eyes.

"Checkmate!" The boy called pumping his fist in victory.

"What a wonderful victory," I said dryly. He continued to smile anyway, those dimples taunting.

"Now don't be a sore loser, Loralei! I can't help it that I'm so smart!" I clucked at him and rolled my eyes.

"You know, narcissism is never attractive," Lars reset the table, the grin still lingering, and I tried not to wonder what he was thinking about.

* * *

When the Battle-Borns and I went to leave Dragonsreach, Runa stayed behind. I gave her a hug and did not question it. If it mattered she would tell me, if not then, then whenever she felt it was the right time.

* * *

It was still dark out when I was shook gently out of my slumber. I had not been asleep long enough to dream, and I sat up in confusion. Runa's bright face was in front of my own, her cheeks flushed and her hair in disarray. Her hands were cold against my shoulders, and her cloak was still tied around her shoulders. "What is it? What's wrong?" I demanded, looking strangely at the smile on her face.

"I've done something, Lorie," I frowned as I watched her read me. I sighed and moved her hands from my shoulder into my own.

"Oh Runa," I said, "what have you done?"

"Well,  _who_ , you should ask!" I gasped and squeezed her hands. They were beginning to warm. My heart pounded, stammering in worry and maybe joy.

"Runa!"

"It's okay, he's going to marry me!" she promised, shifting on the bed.

"Who?" I asked dumbly, trying still to understand.

"The  _jarl_." She squeaked and smiled wider, shaking in excitement. She took me into an embrace and I returned it, giggling with her despite my worries.

"Did he really say he'll marry you?" I asked, cocking my head.

"Well," she looked away and I searched her face. "No, he hasn't mentioned it. But he wouldn't let me do that if his intentions were any different… I mean he's a Jarl!" I forced a smile and nodded, doing my best to reassure her. Frothar was a good man, a nobleman. But Runa was a girl and a nobody. Frothar would not have forgotten that.

"C'mon," I began after a moment. "Let's get you a bath,"

"Perfect," she swooned. "Then I can tell you all about it."

"Spare the details," I demanded. Together, we laughed and I got up to light up the room.

* * *

"Do you ever miss Riften?" I asked her. We sat on a bench outside the temple, only days before my birthday, late winter snow gliding gently through the sky. I watched curiously as a soft flake of snow melted on Runa's pretty face. Her lips crinkled into a small smile as she pondered my question. I noticed she was wearing rouge. I wondered where she'd gotten it.

"Yes and no," she answered simply, fiddling with her crocheted mittens. I had given them to her some time ago. I wondered what she had meant, but I did not need to ask. "It will always be home… _always_. But I've always wanted to leave."

She looked away from me, staring blankly into nowhere, her thoughts of a home we both seemed to share.

I had often wondered if I would ever get to know Whiterun like I had Riften. There I had known all the cracks, all the people, all the places to hide. I had counted the flowers in the little garden beside Honeyside, noting on the way the plants would change and grow. I had walked the pathways of Riften, remembering the clicks of my fancy shoes, and the creaks of the stubborn wood. I had walked  _all_  the pathways in Riften, I had sat on every barrel. I had recognised each shade of grey in that Riften sky as its own, never the same grey twice, no matter how hard it pretended. I had breathed that crooked city's polluted air time and time again, and I had learned to love it always.

Many things had become beautiful to me in Whiterun. The city always had a way to make me think of white, though it was unlike the way Riften gave me thoughts of grey, and unlike the way Solitude burned blue. The city was bright and pleasant; quiet and boring and its honest simplicity reminded me of lives I could have lived and lives I might have wanted.

It had been nearly three years since I'd first set foot into this coquettish little city, and I had grown and I had watched the world grow since. I had wielded magic, I had seen death. I had sung like a fool and I had drunk like a Nord. But it could not be what Riften had been, and I wondered why someone like me could find such a ruthless, honest, and cruel place like that grey city to be my home.

* * *

My birthday came with a large celebration. Runa and Olfina gathered the townspeople at the inn, promising free cake and free drinks for all. The Redguard woman who had arrived the week before spent the entire day preparing foreign soups and recipes for the whole town to enjoy.

The inn was bustling with music and noise by nine o'clock, and the bar was hot and sweaty from people and the humidity of the beginning of spring.

The Inn was nearly full to the maximum, and even people I'd never met found themselves eating a slice of my giant cake. Even Olfina sat at the bar speaking slowly with one of the Drunken Huntsmen. Even Ysolda had come back from who-knows-where, smooth talking some handsome Nord with a thick black beard. Even Braith sat at the edge of the bar, fiddling with her fork as she ate alone. I wondered if I should have gone to her, to thank her for being here. But more than one reason was telling me that she had not come for me at all.

I saw Nelkir too. He spoke to some stranger by the rickety stairs, sitting by a bench that Belrand had made last year. He was with yet another man I'd never seen, and I wondered about his connections. I wondered if this was an old friend he'd known since childhood. I wondered if they were old companions from his time spent elsewhere. I wondered if the strange man was a secret prince, and Nelkir knew where to hide him. I wondered if they did not know each other at all, that if that strange man knew Nelkir was Nelkir the Bastard they would even speak in the first place. I looked away from them though. I found that I did not want to know.

The entire Battle-Born clan was scattered around the inn. Olfrid, Lars' grandfather spoke silently and seriously with his son-in-law. I looked in wonder at the pair. Olfrid and Idolaf shared the same, serious faces, eyebrows always raised in superiority. I wondered if the war had changed them, if they were happy, joyful men before this long, unending war shaped them into people who could cut off ties with their friends from back and back and back. I wondered when and how they became Nords who could repudiate their friends; forsake those who had never before been foe.

The wives of those two serious men chatted comfortably by the fire, laughing in hushed gossip. I wondered in awe at the differences between these women and their husbands. The war had hit those women the same as it had struck those men, and I wondered why they were better at hiding it.

The youngest Battle-Born stood by the door, a lazy grin on his face and a half empty tankard of ale in his hand. When he caught me looking at him, his grin turned into a smile and I found myself blushing. I wish I felt shame, but I didn't. Instead, when he cocked his head to the side, gesturing to the door, I nodded. I looked away for just a moment as Lars set down his tankard, opening the inn door. I caught Braith's eye, and I wondered if what I saw in her was accusation, if it was envy, if it was sadness. I remembered not to care as I turned to the door.

The air outside was cooler, though humidity still floated, frizzing my hair and weighing down on my breaths. A few guards strolled along the town, patrolling patiently and lazily. I looked around the market square carefully, and found Lars leaning against Belethor's General Goods, arms crossed. He watched me as I approached him.

"It's quite the party," he complimented when I stopped in front of him.

"I confess I don't know half the people in there," I admitted, delighted to make him snicker.

"Well maybe  _they_  know you," he suggested, unfolding his hands to shove them in his pockets.

"Maybe," I agreed, looking behind me as someone opened the inn door, light and noise spilling outside. They laughed and stumbled and I smiled. "People seem to be enjoying themselves though."

"Well," he began, looking passed me. "The formula for happiness is music and alcohol."

"So," I began after a moment. Lars looked back to me, removing his hands from his pockets and removing himself from the pole. "What did you get me?"

"What did you want?" he asked calmly, running his hand through his hair. I heard the inn's door open behind me but I ignored it. He did too.

"Just this," I said before stepping closer. I kissed him slowly, and there was no hesitance as he returned it, his arms circling around my body.

* * *

The warm seasons were always bright in Whiterun, and I appreciated those days where I could sit on that bench outside the Temple and pray to Kynareth with the rest of nature, the way She had meant for it. It was the middle of Second Seed and I sat under the Gildergreen with my hands clasped around my Amulet, giving silent blessings and wishes and hopes for me, for Her, for the living and for the dead. The thick branches of the tree shielded me from the sun, though warmth was still steady on my skin.

It was a small, youthful voice that interrupted my prayers. "Could you spare a coin?" I opened my eyes and dropped my hands. In front of me stood an Imperial girl, only six, I guessed. Her complexion was dark and dirty, her hair dark and messy, braided randomly but tightly. The circles under her eyes were dark and old, but her black eyes were somehow bright with youth.

Quickly, I brought out my satchel, and handed her a clean, gold septim. I cocked my head as she grabbed it, crying: "Oh thank you! Divines bless your kind heart! I'm  _soo_  hungry."

"What's your name?" I asked. Cheerfully she smiled up at me; one of her front teeth was missing.

"I'm Lucia," she said, pulling her coin into a little baggy she must have carried around.

"Why are you begging?"

"It's... it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one that's been nice to me since... since mama..." she paused, looking away from me now, her young black eyes glossing over. "...Since she died. My aunt and uncle took over our farm and threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything. I wound up here, but... I—I don't know what to do. I miss her so much..."

She stood there, crying shamelessly like the child she was. I supposed I should have hugged her, given her consolation for her losses. Maybe I should have given her more coin or a flower or a blessing from Kynareth. Instead I just watched as she continued to cry, and I wondered how things could possibly be like this.

It was a long time before I found myself inviting her to stay with Runa and me at Breezehome. She smiled at me then, wider than I'd ever seen someone smile before, and I took her hand as I led her through Whiterun.

She hugged me when I showed her the room I used to sleep in, and just to be sure, I left the door open.

* * *

With the war at a lull, I found myself learning more and more of the worship of Kynareth. It was one hot afternoon that I found myself in the temple all alone. I cleaned up here and there, stocked shelves, read religious scriptures, and dawdled around, feeling pleasantly alone and useful. There was a certain peace in being in this place, especially on my own. It felt like a place where I was enraptured in peace and blessings and silence. Except on this day, my peace was interrupted by a boy with dishevelled hair, walking solemnly into the Temple with his tunic clinging onto his body in the late summer heat.

"Lars?" I called. He stood in the doorway, his head bowed. I approached him until I was close, but still careful not to touch him. "Lars, what's wrong?"

"Riften." I frowned as he looked up at me now. His shoulders were still hunched and his blue eyes were wet.

"What?" I asked stupidly.

"The Stormcloaks, they took Riften… Jon was fighting."

"Is he…is…"

"I don't know yet." He collapsed into my arms and we stayed that way for a while. I stroked his hair too soothe him. I hoped it helped.

* * *

I held Lars' hand from the back of the crowd, not removing my eyes as they buried his uncle's dead body in the ground.

I tried not to hear Olfina's shrieks and sobs as they filled that once-bard's grave. I whispered my prayer.

"May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

* * *

Mila smiled slyly as we ate apples by the river. She and Runa had been swimming while I'd lounged under a tree, twisting rope into what would hopefully become a necklace. They now sat soaked in their clothes, munching on apples like the horses not far off. Lucia and Lars played some game or another down the river; Princesses probably. Lucia had made a makeshift crown for herself out of flowers. I noticed Lars had a crown of his own.

"So, do you love him?" Mila asked randomly. Runa looked surprised at the question.

"That's none of your business!" Runa proclaimed, blushing behind a shy smile. I wondered if I had ever seen Runa smile shyly.

"Oh come on! We're your best friends, you have to tell us!" I giggled, and looked at Runa expectantly. I took a bite of my apple for effect as she eyed me.

"I suppose I do love him," she answered calmly, squeezing water out of her hair, which was dark from wetness.

"And he loves you?" Mila asked. She received a scoff from Runa, who flicked water at her.

"Of course he loves me! We're going to be married!"

"When do you think that will be?" I questioned. I tried not to sound accusing.

"When he asks," Runa said. We snickered and Runa changed the subject, though we all knew that her mind was on that pretty boy who was meant to rule.

* * *

Except, Frothar never did ask.

His betrothal to Mae, of the Greysong clan was announced on the first of Mid-Year.

* * *

Runa got home late after the party had ended, disheveled like I had seen her many times before.

Except this time she cried.

* * *

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" I asked as I brushed through the knots in her long, golden hair. She sat on my bed, looking sadly at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was red and blotchy from crying. She had an ugly crying face.

"I was angry with Frothar. He deceived me. I took him away when he had a moment. He told me that it didn't matter, that none of it mattered… Then he left when his fiancée called him. And—and the Balgruuf bastard had heard it all." She paused, looking at her hands. "He asked me what I expected."

"What happened next?" I asked, putting down the brush to begin plaiting her hair.

"What do you think?" I looked at her in the mirror. Her face was empty; blank; finished. There was a long moment when neither of us spoke. "…He told me told me we were the same…  _bastards_."

I waited for her to cry again, for her to curl up and bawl and cry and cry and scream. But she didn't; she only looked at me as I watched her until she asked, "Are you going to tie that?"

* * *

I thought it wouldn't happen again, that the Bastard of Balgruuf would disappear once more. I thought that Runa, that my lovely, beautiful Runa would be back to normal in a fortnight. But she wasn't. She was blank and betrayed and used. But maybe Nelkir could change that brokenness, even just temporarily. I wondered if that was okay.

I brushed her hair night after night, and I thought I should ask the questions that seemed to linger between us. But I held on to the notion that it was Runa, and if I was meant to know, she would tell me. Now, or later.

* * *

I did not know where Runa was on many occasions, though I supposed it was none of my business whether she was in a bastard's bed or in her own; safe and warm and virtuous.

Except this was Runa—my lovely, beautiful Runa who hadn't played her lute in weeks. This was my best friend of many years who I loved so much. And maybe I did not have the right, but I cared that she was broken, and I cared that she was empty, just like she cared when I was. It did not matter that I was a child then, with mommy issues, and she was now a woman nearly grown with problems far beyond my own comprehension. We were both broken and we both needed fixing, even if it was no one's place to fix us.

Still, I found there was nothing I could do. I was wise enough to know this.

There was only one person who could fix Runa, and that was herself.

* * *

It was late in Mid-Year when I saw the letter. It was left carelessly on the kitchen table, and at first I had not known what it had been. I had just gotten home from Temple, and I felt dirty and exhausted from the magicka I'd had to use. Soldiers were pouring in more and more since Riften, and I felt uneasy as the Stormcloaks were regaining their ground.

I had been making my way to check to see if Lucia had gone to bed yet. I knew Runa would not have.

I thought perhaps it was a notice or a report that Runa had left on purpose for me to see. But what I found inside was different.

_26_ _th_ _of Last Seed, 4E 210_

_Runa,_

_I'm sorry._

_—_ _N_

* * *

I wondered what it meant only for a moment before I walked over to the fire to let it burn.

* * *

Kissing Lars was always different. Sometimes he would be rough and pull my hair and push me up against walls. Sometimes they would be just little kisses, playful and sweet. Other times, he would drag his warm mouth across my neck, leaving me marks I would always blush to think about. There were even rare, private times where he would not kiss me at all, but whisper secular wickedness into my skin as he let his hands roam, and all I would be able to think about was his hot breath travelling across my skin. Sometimes his kiss would be tender and hot, and he would kiss me for so long that my lips would be sore after, and my cheeks flushed for hours.

And I found that the way I kissed him changed too. Sometimes they would be quick and swift: a secret goodbye or a secret hello. There were even times when I would drag my mouth down his neck, and he would groan and let me mark him. Or we would just cuddle, and he would rest his head on my lap while I stroked his hair and left butterflies of kisses across his jaw as he talked to me about his father, about his friends, about his past and about our future.

It was a peculiar thing, whatever it was we were doing. I wondered if it was love, if it was romance. I wondered if it was just a line of friendship that we had somehow blurred. There was once that I thought maybe we were like Nelkir and Runa, but when she looked at the marks on my neck and told me that I was lucky, I knew that it was not the same. Maybe there was just as little commitment and steadiness, though I doubted it, but I knew that neither Lars nor I were broken enough to have to need each other to want each other. I knew that I was with him because I wanted to be with him. I did not kiss him because I was afraid no one else would let me. I did not laugh and play with him because otherwise I would be alone. Still, I could admit that the one similarity between Lars and me, and Nelkir and Runa was that there was no pretending. Lars and I didn't pretend to be something that we weren't, and neither did they. I wondered if Runa was glad for it.

Somehow, I doubted it.

* * *

Only the Priestesses of Kynareth were witness to my baptism. I was calm as Acolyte named me Priestess of Kynareth. I felt safe as the Amulet radiated through me and I received my blessings. I wondered who would be proud of me.

* * *

It was the third of Heart-Fire, and Lucia was fast asleep downstairs. Only the nighttime noises of Breezehome could be heard in the silence as I brushed Runa's hair. She looked at herself in the looking glass, her blue eyes empty.

"I told him I loved him." I should have felt surprised. Instead chills ran up my arm as I noticed the shift. The shift in her, in them, in everything. I wondered why she started pretending.

"And?"

"He reminded me that he is not his brother." I said nothing. "I thought we were the same."

"You were wrong. He was wrong." She nodded, closing her eyes and sighing. After a moment I watched as she rested her face in her hands. She did not cry. I held her, hoping that it meant as much to her as it did me. "I love you, Runa."

"You're the only one." I laughed and she did too. She still didn't cry.

* * *

Nelkir looked at me strangely as I approached him. "Loralei," he greeted stiffly. He dressed well today, and I wondered what the occasion was. Perhaps he always dressed like this though, and I just never noticed before. I doubted it.

"Nelkir," I returned. He sat on the bench at the stables. It was a cold day, and I felt nostalgia as my skirts whirled around my legs. "Are you waiting for a carriage?"

"Yes," he answered simply, fiddling with something in his hands. I did not look to see what it was. Some things were too personal.

"Where are you going?" I asked, shifting on the bench as a harsh wind blew. He looked forward, his angular face straight and serious.

"War," he answered. I felt the need to grab him and shake him and call him a coward.

"Why?" I asked instead, because he had the right to run away. It was a right I'd never forgotten. His voice never changed; it never shifted. He didn't crumble into tears and explanations. His expression remained hard, serious and forced. It was the same it had always been.

"Because I lied."

It was then I realised it was only Nelkir who had been pretending. The realization made me want to grab him and shake him and call him a coward still. But what else could bastards hope to be?

* * *

On the 30th of Frostfall, Markarth was captured by the Stormcloaks. Thousands of Imperial soldiers were dead, claimed by those savage and ruthless Nords who called themselves the revolution.

There were no festivities for Whiterun; not even for the Gray-Manes. I stayed at the Temple and prayed. Runa joined me, and I blessed her with all I thought I could possibly give. She cried, and I told her the lies and the promises she deserved to hear.

* * *

It was early in Sun's Dusk when the first snows fell. Jenssen and I were healing while Danica and the other Priestess prayed and tended to the Temple's needs. I was bandaging a man around two years older than me. He had not fought in Markarth, but had been assaulted by a Stormcloak on his way to Riverwood. He was a handsome boy with dark skin and red hair. He had scars all over his body and I wondered if they'd been from big battles, or clumsiness and carelessness, or from fighting with his brothers. I thought to ask, but I was afraid. Memories were fragile things in times of war.

He must have only newly joined the war though, because he smiled at me playfully, and spoke with me like a comrade. He quipped with me and tried to ask me about my life. Perhaps it was a sign of a hopeful spirit, a naivety only found in those who had not been around for a long time. But it could have also been a mask of some sort, to hide the scars in his mind and in his memories. It seemed that soldiers were the worst kind of people to attempt to unravel. I didn't bother.

"So, do you plan on being a Priestess for the rest of your life?" he asked me as I sat him up to test something or another. Sometimes I had no idea what I was even doing. I figured I'd know if I was doing it wrong.

"Do you plan of being a soldier for the rest of your life?" I quipped half-heartedly, pretending to be distracted.

"So long as the war rages, so will I," he said. Perhaps to him it was brave, but I could only think of how it was such a waste of life to fight in a war that would change nothing, a war that would be forgotten in the long list of rebellions and attempts at power. No one would be remembered.

"This war will never end," I warned, washing my hands in the water basin. The water was cold, from the winter air.

"It might," he said hopefully. "I might be a war hero by the end of it."

"You might be dead." Jenssen shot me a look, but I ignored it. It was a dry attempt to get this young boy to go do something safe, and I supposed I didn't really care all that much. So I shut up, but so did the boy.

I always wondered what had happened to him.

* * *

"Oh, it's you," Braith said, rather distant. She glanced in my direction for only a moment before she looked away again. We sat on the bench facing the Gildergreen. Its dead branches were peppered with snow, the soft winds blowing the snowflakes around gently.

"Do you want me to move?" I asked, monotone, indifferent. It wasn't freezing, but it was cold enough that I wore my cloak and my hat, warm and comfortable in the outside. The sun was out and bright, and the town was out and about, running their afternoon errands. Runa and Lucia were down by the market stalls, buying food to stock up in the inn.

"I don't care," she said, still looking at the tree. I had the urge to look at her face and try to read her thoughts, but I didn't want to be the first to look. Braith was never someone I understood, and never had I wanted to understand her, but there was something surrounding her that I wanted to investigate and peel apart. Maybe it was because I was not used to someone who so blatantly disliked me, and I wanted to know why. Maybe it was because I wanted to like her. The former was more likely.

We sat for a while in silence, and I wondered if it was uncomfortable. I felt very aware of myself, careful not to twitch or say something stupid, or even breathe too loudly. Braith however seemed calm and uncaring as she watched the tree or the snow or nothing at all.

"I'm leaving Whiterun," she said suddenly, and I wondered why I got to know.

"Because of me?" It was the first thing I assumed. I turned to look at her. She looked at me only then. She'd won.

"Not everything is about you," she scowled. I recoiled, ready to say sorry. I didn't.  _Don't apologize_ , I reminded myself.

"I know," I found myself responding, though I figured she didn't care to hear my excuse. "Why then?"

"There's nothing for me here." She stood up and turned to me, forcing me to look up at her. I wondered if I minded. "I know I'm a brat and a bitch, and maybe I shouldn't be. And maybe I shouldn't say things or do things, and I'm not asking for forgiveness. I just want to say that if our paths don't cross again, that—" She paused and looked behind me. I desperately wondered what she wanted to say, but as that something surrounding her peeled apart, I chose only to wonder what she saw, or what she searched for, and I wondered why she was saying these things. "Tell Lars," she began again, but then blinked and breathed and looked confused. She shook her head and I knew better than to press her for what she was going to say. "Never mind… bye I guess." I watched her hesitate for a moment and I thought I should say something or hug her or tell her thank you. She left when I said nothing.

* * *

There was something strange about Lars when word got around that Braith had left, but I said nothing. Whatever had been between them had not been about me, and I was thankful for that.

* * *

On the thirteenth of Evening Star, 4E 210, Carlotta Valentina died, leaving only a daughter and a vegetable stand. Her funeral was short and quick, and I thought it honoured that hardworking woman well. The single Priest of Arkay buried Carlotta in a small ceremony, and her remains were left in a coffin in the Hall of the Dead. I noticed as the sermons put her to rest, that the Hall was becoming overfilled. I wondered what they would do with the bodies once there was no more room.

I remembered to say my prayers when the priest finished.

"May her soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

* * *

Lars cried when Mila said goodbye. He begged her not to go, and she cried too and told him that she had nothing left. I remember that he told Mila that she had him, for forever, and I wondered how he felt when she said it wasn't enough.

I was sad too; sorry to see another go to war.

* * *

The 31st of Evening Star brought many gifts to this little city. Jarl Frothar gathered the town in my inn, and announced with what seemed like happiness, "Dawnstar and Winterhold have been claimed by the Empire!" The inn roared and cheered, and I was afraid to look at Olfina, the only Gray-Mane in sight. I looked instead at Runa who seemed not to be paying attention at all, staring at a piece of parchment with more concentration I'd ever seen on her face. I only ignored it though. She would tell me, now or later.

What the contents of the paper held must have been good though, because I managed to get her to play a song, and she did it beautifully, as if it hadn't been weeks since she'd last picked up her lute.

The town celebrated the Old Life and the New, and the victories and the hopes of this war that would one day mean nothing.

* * *

When Nelkir returned home in the beginning of Sun's Dawn, 4E 211, I believe I wanted him to stay. I don't know why. Maybe it was because I liked him, and how he was silent and calm and used to give me the creeps. It could have been because I would never forget him. I knew that he had made such a mark, an impression into my skin without even touching me. I knew that he would never go forgotten in my brain. Maybe I wanted him to stay because I didn't want to have to remember him.

There was also the chance that I wanted him to stay for Runa. I knew that somehow they fit, like two puzzle pieces that belonged nowhere else but together. I knew that if anyone was for Nelkir the Bastard, it was Runa the Nothing. I also knew that if Runa was not the one for Nelkir, than no one was. No one at all.

Perhaps it was for a selfish, personal reason that I wanted him to stay. Maybe I saw that I was the strange bastard that people looked over. Maybe we both understood all too well what it felt like to live in a shadow. Maybe I knew that when he was gone, I was alone.

Whatever it was, I wanted him to stay and even if we never spoke or even looked at each other, I would know the difference if he was gone.

He proposed to Runa though, and she said no.

And then he didn't stay. He left to where everyone else seemed to leave for.

I never thought I could envy Sovngarde.

* * *

His brother had been the one to find him, hanging from a rope, made intricately and expensively, a rope made for a King. A rope, made apparently for a Bastard.

* * *

The day after Nelkir's funeral, I found a thin book, bound in leather. It was a journal, many years old by the look of it. It was set on a bench in the temple, and I had only looked in it to see whose it was, so that I could return it. It was Nelkir's and it my heart lurched at the thought that he'd come to the temple before he killed himself. I wondered what he'd come looking for, and I wondered if it was me or Her or  _her_.

It was probably an invasion of his privacy, but I took my seat on the bench and I read it. I read his thoughts and his memories and his opinions. I read of his feelings and his loves and his hates and his life. And I read it because no one else would, no one would ever pick up this bastard's journal and read it and learn of this boy who thought he lived alone in the shadows.

I knew that journals and diaries were meant to be private and forgotten, but I believed Nelkir would want someone to know him and his loves and his hates, and remember those memories he would never forget. Even if it was just me, the daughter of the Dragonborn who meant as little as him, he would want me to think of him when I thought of Bastards and of Runa and of that time when he lied.

I kept the journal from Runa though. I was still too selfish to let Nelkir have her in Sovngarde. He would have to wait, like my brother and my father and my sister and Belrand and Jon and Carlotta and all the others. They would all have to wait and see if enough would have stayed the same for us to return to them.

And the rest of us? We would have to let the gods guide us. Who else would?

* * *

Runa cried for eighteen days, never leaving her room. Lucia knocked on her door on the twelfth, and then she walked away when Runa only continued to sob from behind the door. Lucia knocked again on the seventeenth, and I heard from my room as the little girl sang, crying with the broken girl for reasons she did not even understand. I found myself listening with my ear against my own door, and I prayed with all my might that Runa did not run away.

When she came out of her room on the nineteenth, she asked for a bath. Lucia told us stories as I plaited Runa's hair. We all fell asleep in my bed, clean and somewhat calmer than we had been in a very long time.

* * *

On my sixteenth birthday, I asked for no celebration. It felt wrong to celebrate anything so soon. Runa and Olfina made me a dinner though, and we ate like we were a family. Lucia had drawn me a picture of a dragon, surrounded by a blue sky. "Blue flowers," she corrected, when I mentioned it. It reminded me of many things, and I thanked her because it was good to remember.

Runa wrote me a song and a letter and she told me many things, like I knew she would. She didn't spare the details. I expected the least.

Olfina and Ysolda had hired Imperial performers to put on a dance and a show for our private viewing. It was a strange, enticing dance to a melody that sent shivers down my spine. It forced me to feel alert and sleepy all at once.

Lars saved his gift for later, when everyone else had gone. It was a book,  _16 accords of Madness volume X_. I kissed him in thank you and laughed because he remembered. Later that night, he told me he loved me, and I kissed him again because I did too, but I didn't say it back, because it would only be a curse.

* * *

It was a hot day in Second Seed, the winter gone as quickly as it came, surprising Whiterun. Runa and Lucia had been swimming, as I'd picked the berries, but it was getting late into the afternoon and we'd all retired for a snack. We were eating snow berries by the river when Lars came running over, his clothes loose and his hair messy.

"Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news?" he asked, masking the fact that he was out of breath.

"Bad news!" chirped Lucia, her mouth full of snow berries.

"Okay." He plopped down beside me and grabbed a berry from my hand. "The Stormcloaks have claimed Morthal."

"Ew," Runa said curtly. "Now tell us the other news." I was the only one who noticed the use of  _other_  rather than  _good_. I tried not to eye her.

"Markarth is the Empire's once again!" Lucia cheered and I clapped enthusiastically with the girl. Lars smiled brightly, his teeth stained red in berry juice.

* * *

The summer stretched long into Frostfall, keeping the people of Whiterun hot and healing as we all adjusted to the world and how it changed and how it would change.

I taught Lucia how to read, and Lars taught her how to ride a horse. For her seventh birthday, he bought her a young black folly who she named Beauty. Jenssen taught her little tricks of magic and I was happy to see that she was loved.

Runa began to write more and more songs, and though they started as slow, sad ballads that she all named Nelkir, they soon became smooth, delicate songs that she named Runa.

The war was quiet for a while, and I spent my days both praying and practicing alchemy, making potions for hours each day, for the battles I was sure would soon ensue.

* * *

I was right.

* * *

On the twentieth of Sun's Dusk, the Empire entered Riften and Ivaarstead, breaching the Reach. Men and women fought for twenty days, and they were sent to temples all across Skyrim to be healed and to be returned.

I healed one hundred soldiers, and I watched one hundred die. I made sure to learn all their names. I wrote them down on the back of a used piece of parchment, and when it was announced that the battle was won, I returned to the temple and I kneeled, reciting each of those names. I prayed for the fallen Stormcloaks too, who were barbaric and wrong, because if this many of the Imperials had died, I could only imagine how many Stormcloaks had fallen. As the town celebrated behind the doors of the temple, I said my prayer for those people who were not people anymore.

"May their souls rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

* * *

It was the twentieth of Morning Star that a courier came up to me. He was dirty and out of breath, and only asked my name before handing me my letter and running off again.

The parchment was thick and off white. I was not shocked at the scrawl in blue ink.

_14_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 212_

_Dear Loralei,_

_Lydia and I are in the Alik'r Desert. Yesterday was Ovank'a and I thought of you. I just wanted to write you a quick letter to let you know that you are still with me._

_Lydia says she feels a strange connection with Stendarr after the worshipping, but I'm sure she'll get over it. He is the God of mercy and justice, and would be quite well suited with Lydia, but I remind her that I'm the one she must worship!_

_She laughed when I said that. So much for being my ever loyal Housecarl!_

_Stendarr be with you,  
Elaira_

_P.S. Tell Jarl Frothar congratulations on his upcoming wedding!_

_P.P.S. I heard about Nelkir. He always was such a sad, strange_ _bastard_ _boy._

* * *

Frothar and Mae's wedding was a beautiful affair, stretching throughout the entire city, covered in snow and people.

I held Runa's hand throughout it all. I didn't think she needed it, not really, not for Frothar's wedding. But I knew where her thoughts lay, and I was with her. Later, after we'd escaped the feast, we cried together.

* * *

There was something very novel and impractical in the way Lars and I were together. Perhaps we ourselves were complex, beautiful creatures of human nature. We were broken in weird places and twisted in others. We had family drama and personalities that would bore the average person. Our dreams were muddled in childhood trauma and we did not know who we were meant to be. Our loves and likes, our pet peeves and our hatred had been formed by our discomfort with the cards that the universe had dealt us. And yes, we were messed up and complicated people.

Together though, we were simple. When we met, we were both young and rich, both wise and naïve. We were a boy with a lot of pride and girl who blushed. And we fell in love the way we were supposed to. We were the boy and girl next door, the friends who were never really friends. We were a cliché romantic novel that young girls read and dream about. We did not know what we wanted or where we wanted to be, our lives were unsure. But this romance, this stupid little clichéd love affair was set in stone and steady.

We deserved it. We belonged together, in this simplicity that comforted us. We deserved the passion that didn't have to mean anything other than simple wanting.

And on that dark night in First Seed when he knelt before me, one knee in the snow and he asked me, "Loralei, will you marry me?" I said yes. I kissed him and we hugged and we spent the night kissing and holding and talking because we could, and we were supposed to, and we wanted to.

* * *

I'd never seen Olfrid Battle-Born look so happy. He nearly jumped on me when Lars and I told him the news. Lars' family was delighted to hear that he would marry me: a respectable, wealthy priestess with a house and the shares of the inn belonging to her. I was glad they approved of me, though I was shamed by their reasons why.

Runa cried when I told her. And it was selfish of her, but I understood that she was happy for me and did not love me any less. She cried because she deserved to be happy for herself too.

The rest of the town, to my surprise was extremely content with the match, and together they planned an engagement celebration.

It was loud and bustling, and the town watched as Lars and I lifted a floating lantern into the night sky. Runa played a song as I watched it disappear and as the citizens began to dance.

" _OH! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!_ "

It wasn't long before I joined in.

* * *

There was a rain storm on my seventeenth birthday. The air was sticky and humid, the town sweating in heat. Runa and Lucia stayed at the inn where they took care of the guests, hoping to bring comfort to the citizens and themselves in the hot spring day.

Meanwhile, I was in my house, with Lars. He made me tea, but I didn't drink it. Instead, we lay on the floor drenched in heat, speaking little.

"You know, there's one way we could cool off," he said, smiling crookedly at me. I looked at him expectantly.

"And what would that be, Lars?" He snickered before sitting up.

"We could take off our clothes." I sat up, laughing. Rolling my eyes, I responded,

"Shut up." He laughed and continued,

"Hey, I'm just stating the facts!" I smiled and pushed the hair out of my face. Rain clattered against the walls of my house, and I wondered who would fix the leaks.

Lars watched me thoughtfully as I glanced around my house, trying not to notice. I assumed he would move in here, and live with Lucia, Runa and I. I imagined that during the evenings, the four of us would sit at that long wooden table, eating whatever concoction Runa and I had created. I imagined that during the day, Lars and I would plant flowers at the front of the house as Runa would fiddle with her lute on a chair she'd bring outside. Lucia would play with her dolls in front of us, hosting tea parties and giggling to herself like the fool she was. Olfrid would walk by and Lars would ask about the war. Lars' mother would follow behind and scold her father and her son for only ever speaking of the war. When my thoughts drifted towards the night, and I imagined Lars holding me, kissing me…

I blushed and turned to him, trying to see if he could read my mind. He looked at me curiously, frowning at my apparent panic.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His eyes were bright, curious, kind.

"I love you," I found myself confessing. It was the first time, and I wondered why. He smiled now, touched, and I tried to return it. My heart thudded rapidly and forcefully against my bones. He leaned close, his fingers touching the hard line of my jaw. His lips were warm and wet from perspiration, and I assumed mine were as well. I met his movements with my own as he kissed me. It was tender, loving and different, the way it was different every time.

Lars moved his fingers down my neck, tracing my collarbone, the curve of my shoulders. My hands were on his chest, moving up to his neck, then into his hair. Slowly, we kissed, and patiently, he unlaced my dress.

It didn't scare me or intimidate me as he pulled my clothes off, piece by piece. It didn't frighten me or make me feel scared as his hands roamed my body, naked, plain. He only stopped kissing me to look at me, and I blushed before he kissed me again. He stopped one more to remove his tunic, and then his pants.

It was probably tacky, losing my virginity like this, on my seventeenth birthday, probably years before our wedding, on the floor my mother used to wash. But it did not seem to matter as he moved inside of me, touching and loving all the skin on my body. Lars kissed me and held me and he whispered filth against my skin, and I closed my eyes to remember all those dirty, incoherent words even he would forget. And yes, perhaps I should have waited. I would have shamed my mother if she'd known, but what difference would it make? Why hold out on something that seemed to connect us both, something that reassured us of how we loved each other?

I couldn't think of a single reason.

* * *

I could think of a million, when one month later, at the end of Second Seed, I sat on a sick bed in the Temple, Danica's hands on my midsection.

"You're with child," she said. And I squeezed Runa's hands, ready to throw up all over again.

* * *

I begged Lars and his family to move up the wedding so I would not give birth to a bastard. But Lars' mother shook her head, and her husband looked angrily at Lars. Olfrid told me to get out.

I thought Lars would follow, but he didn't.

He only found me hours later in the temple, when my knees were sore from praying. He looked uncomfortable and sick. He stood far from me as I faced him. I could tell he was forcing himself to look away.

"The wedding has been called off," he said after a long, uncomfortable time. I felt my throat hitch and I felt weak.

"Why?" I knew the answer.

"I have to marry a virgin," he looked at me accusingly, like it was my fault, like I could have, should have stopped him. He looked at me for a long while, expectantly. He wanted me to apologize. He wanted me to say I was sorry, and to beg him to be my husband. But this was not my fault. It was ours and I was a fool for believing he would see it as such.

"Well, good luck with that then," I said, trying my hardest to be nonchalant. He didn't deserve my anger. Not even Lars Battle-Born deserved my apology.

I turned away from him instead of looking for his reaction. There was a moment of hesitance before I heard his footsteps and then the door slam shut.

* * *

I cried after Runa sent for my mother. Lucia stroked my back and sang me lullabies, shushing me. Runa held on to me and laid her head in the crook of my neck. I rested my hand on my belly and I wondered why it felt like nothing.

* * *

"Where are we going?" I asked steadily as we loaded the carriage. Mother hauled up our bags with a grunt before giving Lydia a letter of some sort. I tried not to be baffled at the sight of them. They had arrived yesterday, and all our efforts had been towards moving out. Maybe it was cowardly to leave like this, but I did not care. The child would have to learn not to as well.

"Solitude," Elaira said, turning to me. Her eyes were bright and ready. I could already tell she was someone new to me. I nodded as she helped me into the carriage. Lucia and Runa followed. Before Elaira shut the door I swallowed, suddenly desperate and scared and needing to say it.

"I'm so sorry." She blinked and for a moment I was scared. She was as unpredictable as a wild sabre cat. But then she smiled, her eyes twinkling.

"You went from praying to the mother of gods to the god of life and wind, what else could we expect?" Runa burst into laughter and I smiled. Lucia asked what we were laughing about before Elaira shut the carriage door with a click.

Still, as we started off, I prayed, to Kynareth and to Mara, and I asked for guidance; for myself, and for the child. We would both need it.


	10. To beautify a palace

Bam Bam and Birdie led our carriage with a black stallion that had come with the man hired to drive. For hours, they pulled our carriage steadily forward and it wasn't long before the clicking of their hooves became rhythmic, familiar background noise.

Mother had found the carriage in Elsweyr, travelling with a large camp of at least three hundred Khajiit nomads. Its alluring cherry-wood, engraved carvings and its jewelled embellishments which must have glittered in the hot desert sun, had enthralled her into purchasing it, and then she had ordered a second one. She and Lydia rode in the one made new. Runa, Lucia and I rode in the older one. The wear was subtle: the satin was a little rumpled, not as smooth or as bright as my mothers'. There were cracks and scratches in the gold, and there lingered a particular smell that seemed foreign and lived-in. Still, the carriage was luxurious, and Runa seemed to like it well.

The bright red and gold and the glittering of the perfect-cut jewels paraded around in a land of simplicity and plainness must have proved a strange sight for those who saw us pass. I only hoped we would not be subject to bandits or any other jealous citizens of Skyrim. I scolded my mother for not thinking of it; or for not caring.

The road through Hjaalmarch Mountain was rocky, and we bumped along slowly through the snow. I spotted many caves; some I knew the names of and others only geographers, explorers, and Evesa would know the names of.

Hjaalmarch was not known just for Brood Cavern Cave or Fort Snowhawk; here was the only place to find swamp fungal pods and giant lichen in all of Skyrim. But to my disappointment, I could not spot any. They would probably be down by the swamps, but still, I searched each tall pine tree, and decided if I spotted some, I would stop the carriage to collect.

Though I could not find those rarer species, I spotted many Deathbell plants. Hjaalmarch was home to the most Deathbell plants in Skyrim.  _Damage health, ravage stamina, slow, weakness_   _to poison_ , I recited. As I contemplated the deathbell's uses, and the potions it was ingredient to, I thought perhaps I would become an apothecary. During my time as a priestess, I had learned the properties of all the basic plants and ingredients. I had enough of a foundation to continue learning the arts of alchemy. Anyhow, I doubted many Temples would be jumping to accept a bastard-carrying Priestess.

I could probably open a little stand in the market and mix potions in the basement of Proudspire Manor.  _Loralei's Lair_ , I would call it. Perhaps even, I thought, I could study not alchemy, but the magic of restoration. I tried to imagine myself dressed in mage robes, a golden circlet around my head. Perhaps I'd be one of the wandering mages who worshipped at the Standing Stones, ready to strike those who'd disturbed the peace for a blessing sought in vain.

Runa glanced at me strangely as I grinned to myself and planned my escape to the College of Winterhold, where they would harbour me and give me the name strangers and enemies would know me by. I would leave my baby with someone else. Perhaps Lydia would want it, or some barren woman.

I could make my life anew; disappear into the world of mages and magic, and novices and madmen. And maybe someday I would plan my return, someday many years when I'm not so far from death. Would I find my child, and tell it of my adventures? Would I forget about it all together? Would it look for me instead? Would I even have the courage to leave?

I figured I would. It must not be hard for a mother to leave her child, for short, for long, forever. When it comes down to it, it must be whatever seems more important, more desirable, and easier.

What was more important to me though; making sure this child grew up well, or making sure  _I_  grew up well? What did I want? Did I even care for magic or potions? Did I want a family, a husband, a farm? What would be easier? Just stay, and lay in that bed me and a stupid boy made together? Or leave, like  _that_ , like  _nothing_. Leave and disappear and make a life built on forgetting?

"This is a nice carriage. Your mom really goes all out." Runa broke my reverie and I had to blink stupidly at her before answering.

"She's quite the extremist."

She chuckled politely but we said no more. In silence, we looked back out the window. I spotted a swamp fungal pod at the trunk of a tree near the end of the mountain. The air felt sticky as the carriage continued on.

* * *

On the path towards Morthal, we passed only swamps crawling with slimy crabs and bugs flying close to the surface of the murky water. The grey (which was more of a green-grey), and the stench of dirty water reminded me of the underground flow of water beneath Riften. Something about the gloomy atmosphere and the grimy surroundings was familiar, yet something was off and it all made me feel confused and uncomfortable.

Even Runa looked uneasy in the thick, hot air. She looked out the window, sitting very still, blue eyes empty. She was both a little pained and dreamy, and she must have had a good thought. Or if it was bad, it must have been intense. I wondered what it was. Was she also thinking about what she would do next? Was she thinking of a book or a song or a person? Was she wondering if Solitude would be as gross and swampy as it was here? Or maybe she looked for swamp fungal pods and counted the deathbells. Probably not; she didn't notice things like that.

She turned and I blushed, embarrassed she caught me staring. She only looked back at me in wonder and strange concern when she asked, "Are you scared to go back to Solitude?"

I glanced over to Lucia, who was still fast asleep on Runa's lap. She breathed deeply and calmly and her eyeballs moved rapidly behind closed lids. I wondered what she dreamed about. I hoped she dreamt of nothing.

"No." And finally, I wondered if it was a lie.

* * *

The carriage driver said that Morthal was dangerous, and it would be unwise to rest there. "Dragons: day and night! Half the town's nearly gone; burnt to the crisp!" So we went on, and through the swamps of Hjaalmarch, there was more of uncleanly nothingness. For hours, all I saw were shallow wetlands, and all I felt was intense humidity.

We crossed a bridge with an old sign, the paint long ago worn off, and we passed a cabin that was so out of place I forced myself to look away. I noticed as Runa inspected it herself. She was silent.

I remembered the first time I had travelled to Solitude. The silence had been equal, but different. There was an altered kind of discomfort with Lars and Nelkir than with Runa and Lucia. Naivety, innocence or shamelessness… all that was now was weight and heat and grime.

As we pulled up to a stop at Dragon Bridge, I closed my eyes and took a second to remember how my skirts had swirled around my feet.

* * *

We stayed only half an hour at Dragon Bridge to stretch our stiff limbs and grab a quick bite to eat for dinner: warm bread, hot soup and a bottle of ale. They all tasted familiar, and I found that I was not okay with that.

* * *

"So this is home again…" I said quietly to myself as we walked into Solitude. The city was calm, the sun setting beyond the horizon.

"No," Mother said from behind, startling me slightly. "Your home is Lakeview Manor."

"Then why did we come here?" Lucia asked, covering a yawn.

"Renovations, but everything should be finished before the child is born." Elaira smiled encouragingly, and I tried not to frown. "Now, I've arranged for our bags to be brought up to Proudspire."

"This city is so tall," Runa cooed. "I can't believe the bard's college is here!"

"I don't believe they're taking applicants now, but probably soon," Lydia added, grabbing Lucia, who was about to go off and explore. "It's right beside Proudspire, you could join their little parties any time!"

Runa clapped, and grabbed my arm. I stiffened a little, but I didn't think she noticed. Together, we walked through the city, Runa commenting on the buildings or citizens every once in a while. She seemed to like Solitude, and I wondered if she would want to stay. I watched as she took the city in, and I figured it was better than looking myself.

* * *

I never cared much about people or getting to know them. I enjoyed being aloof and exterior of problems and emotions. I did not think of Vittoria often, but when I did, I found myself wanting to know the things I never got to.

I had never really known her. I knew her name and the colour flower she wanted at her wedding. I knew her prayers and that she worked for the East Empire Company. But I knew very little about anything else. Did she cry easily? Did she anger quickly? What would she name her children? Would she shun me for my situation, or would she hold my hand and bring me to Temple? Would I even have liked her, had I not been a child, not yet aware of talent or friendship or anything? Perhaps I had contorted her image, and these years later I did not even picture the right face. Maybe she was just becoming more and more of an idea I only hung onto to remind myself that I lived here, once, not so long ago.

Perhaps though, it wasn't really Vittoria that I clung to. Perhaps she only reminded me of a time where we glued flowers to paper and waited and waited. Maybe she forced me to remember big black boxes, and long, black weapons. Maybe it wasn't  _her_  at all. Maybe it was the girl with the red hair and those big ears who prayed to Akatosh. Or even Rorlund.  _Rorlund_.

* * *

I saw Vittoria's house before I saw mine. I thought to knock or look through a window, but I didn't want to be reminded it was empty. I didn't want to learn it was occupied by anyone other than Vittoria either. My family filed through the door of Proudspire, but I stayed, and looked at that tall house.

They had left the door open, and they still shuffled inside. A torch at the side of the door blazed on. I thought to call out to my family, but my voice was stuck. Instead, I looked away, and ran down the steps, towards that temple with the tall windows and the man with the bald head and the sermons I'd never remember.

My shoes clicked against the stone pathways, and it wasn't long before my breath grew ragged and desperate. But I wouldn't stop running. I didn't have to go; it wasn't a need or an urge. It was an impulse, a strange vibration in my bones that was telling me, suggesting that this is where I should go. And maybe it would be for nothing and I would be asleep, and then alone in this place called Solitude. But that didn't matter, because I wanted to go anyway. To see, to feel, to remember the temple with a ceiling so high a giant couldn't reach.

I slowed down when I reached the doors, which were so tall and welcoming. The air was still sticky, and my hair clung to my face and my legs felt sore. The coolness of the metal door handle was a refreshing bliss. I expected to find the temple dark, empty, the priests and priestesses saying their night prayers. Instead, I found the temple lit, with men and women in yellow robes either scurrying around or circled at the front of the room.

Confused, I walked slowly towards where everyone was gathered. The closer I got, I realised they were circled around a cot where a frail old man lay. He looked up when I approached, the others following.

"You aren't supposed to be in here," a woman with a long face announced.

"No," the old man said, barely making out more than a croak. "Let her stay, she is an old friend."

I furrowed my brows, and looked at him. Surely I recognised him. I thought to ask him his name, but I resisted. I was afraid I would offend him.

"Come, kneel," I took a step closer and knelt beside him, wordless. The priestess to my right took my hand, and I looked up at her. The ears were the first thing I saw. I took the priest on my left's hand, and we all knelt. We prayed for a long time before the old man had to stop, and the lady with the long face had to finally say it:

"May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

I opened my eyes and remembered his name.

 _Rorlund_.

* * *

It took four days for us to settle into Solitude.

Runa had prospered in the few days we had been in the city. The life of this tall and rich city seemed to suit her, and by the way she looked around her room, and the grandeur of the manor, I knew she thought only of the opportunities that we had given to her for no reason at all. The morning of our second day in Solitude, she took me to look at paintings. She'd brought with her a large pouch of gold septims, and worn a cotton spring coat my mother must have given her. She had many plans for her little room in the manor, and I wondered if she planned to stay longer than my mother.

"Blue and silver," she had decided when we were in a little knit shop boutique. She had paid five hundred septims for the old imperial lady to sew a blanket for her bed. She'd later commissioned silver throw pillows because she'd had a few extra coins to spend.

In the evening, when I felt ill, I'd returned to my room, much to the annoyance of Runa, who had plans of her own, plans which didn't involve a nauseous best friend. Instead, she'd joined the evening party at the Bard's College. I had watched from the window on the upstairs landing as they all made music together. Runa looked up, and smiled as they sang. I could hear their words faintly through the window.

" _OH! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!"_

* * *

On the third day, the two of us went to the markets and bought fish. She wore a spring coat made of deep grey velvet, and a dark blue hat, one which was in the current fashion. The buttons of her white gloves were bright gold, and they reminded me of Daphne. Mother had asked us to buy some fish for dinner because the meat she had bought had gone bad. Simply a few cuts of salmon and some salt would have sufficed, but rather than do our simple task, we had taken all afternoon. Runa asked all the vendors questions about the quality and weight of their produce. She had tufted at the ones who'd answered poorly, and smiled to the ones who wore coats the same velvet as hers. Even I was convinced she knew what she was talking about.

We lingered for a little after Runa had deemed some fish worthy. She bought a silver ring, and it reminded me of the ring my mother wore on her forefinger. It was simple, silver, but it sent a message of wealth and power. I figured Runa thought so as well.

While we walked back up Solitude, towards the manor, I noticed as she glanced at the tall blue palace at the edge of the horizon. It was only for a moment before she looked away, but I knew she thought of a life she almost had, a life she always wanted. She twisted the ring on her finger.  _Silver isn't her colour_ , I thought.

* * *

That evening, we ate our dinner on the porch. The trees and leaves swayed in the soft breeze, and Lucia's skirts whirled around her once-bony ankles as she picked the flowers in the garden. It reminded me of those childhood summers spent sitting in the dirt, eating grass and making castles, bees buzzing around me and my brother. I never realised how horrible it was to be the one sitting on the porch, sipping on wine while the children played down below. So much time had been swallowed by grey and memories and people, and I had not even realised.

I had many memories of the hours spent in that yard, playing, and doing, and learning, and somehow growing up. On days mother and father were away, Lydia and I would bring out a soft cotton blanket, and we would lay it down on the grass. We would set up my dollies all around, and drink tea from little cups from the Imperial City that Mother had forbidden us from touching. Hroar and Kayd would play swords with sticks and wear Mother's old leather helmets and boots that she thought had been well-hidden. Eventually, they would throw them ajar, far too big to properly battle with.

There was one night too, when Hroar and Father were fast asleep, snoring by themselves. I had been unable to sleep in the summer heat. Looking out my window, taller than even me, I saw Mother, dressed only in her night shirt, spread out on the grass. Even in the dark, her hair was tangled wildfire spreading through the grass. I watched as she looked up at the sky above and I wondered if she thought, or if she dreamt, or if she had simply been sleepwalking.

It had been our yard; mine and Hroar's and Onmund's and Elaira's. It belonged to Lydia and Critter and those bees that fed our flowers. And I loved Lucia, and there was no way for her to know, but those flowers did not belong to her, and this porch and those walls which were now covered in tacky paintings were not Runa's. This city and this Proudspire Manor were places that belonged to those years and memories and people which were swallowed up by things that shouldn't belong.

I watched Lucia, her naïve laughter, and those ankles which used to be bony, and I knew that I had given her all of it. I looked at Runa though, and how she laughed with my mother, and how she twirled that silver ring, and somehow I knew she'd stolen all of it. Perhaps not physically, and perhaps not consciously, but somehow she had ripped me of my belongings. Somehow that yard and this porch were no longer  _mine_.

A breeze blew, and her golden hair flew into her face. She laughed at something Elaira said, and I convinced myself that I did not mean it.

"So, when shall we visit the Blue Palace?" Runa asked, dabbing her mouth with a serviette. Mother smiled and sat a little straighter as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"We do not  _visit_ , my dear," she started, grinning. "We are  _invited_." The two laughed. Runa's thin chortle made me think of an overpriced gold necklace I once bought, and how it turned black when the thin coat of metal began to wear.

* * *

The invitations arrived the next day. Mother read it aloud to us before breakfast. Runa smiled when her name was called. She squeezed my hand and sent me pity when mine was not. Even mother lifted a brow, and pursed her lips.

Runa called on the dressmakers herself.

She had a dress made intricately and it had taken her twenty minutes just to put on and show it to me. She looked beautiful and wrong, and she held her neck a little too high, as if the world needed to be reminded that she was tall, and strong, and better. It was a deep green dress with a tall silver collar, the kind I saw more and more frequently among the rich and pretentious. I did not think the green went well with the pink of her cheeks and the colour of her golden hair. Still, I could not help but notice how it made that silver ring sparkle.

* * *

I found myself standing outside my door again, staring up at Vittoria's Vici's house. I closed my eyes and sighed as an evening wind blew, and the chain of my amulet shuffled. The shifting metal sent chills throughout me, and when the wind passed, I found myself walking down a familiar path.

Mothers called their children in for dinner, and storeowners locked up as I made my way through the city. Signs rattled softly, and the sun beamed against my face. I wandered silently as the city grew quieter and stiller, and the sun got lower and the sky changed colours.

The door handle of the temple was cold against my palm, and my heart rattled with the store signs as I turned it. Inside, I found an empty temple, with the priests and priestesses eating somewhere in another room. The door shut loudly behind me, the noise bouncing of the walls. Each step I took clung to an echo, and I was scared to disturb the silence. The atmosphere was eerie, and I felt as though the walls and windows, and the temple were staring at me, following each of my breaths with cold, questioning eyes.

Cautious, I walked towards the shrines of the divines. I followed the voice of Kynareth, the strings of natural instinct pulling me towards her. I fell to my knees in front of her, barely noticing the sting sent up my thighs. My hands found their way to my amulet, and I tried to find my voice, and find equilibrium with the hums she sent to me.

"You have come once more." I opened my eyes and stood, turning to a woman in priest robes. She was the woman with the long face.

"I have… I'm—well, I was a priestess…" I tried to explain; only the woman looked at me quizzically.

"I know who you are… Priestess of Kynareth, the Thane's Daughter… a soon-to-be mother." My heart leapt slightly, nervous because it surprised me every time I was reminded.

"Sometimes even I forget," I confessed.

"It matters not," she decided. "The divines have blessed you with a child; we are not to judge their verdicts. Your duties begin tomorrow, Sister Loralei. Pray for longer if you like, just leave before dark."

I nodded as she turned and walked away. I gave a small smile to the shrine and the walls and the temple, and thanked that they would think to watch over me.

* * *

It was midnight when they returned from the Blue Palace, and I was reading in my room. It was a forgettable book, probably one that had been abandoned when we'd first left for Riften. The door squeaked as Runa opened it, her green dress slightly dishevelled. She looked tired, and she did not give me a smile.

"Hi," she said, closing the door behind her. "Help me out of this?" I nodded and got out of bed. As I began unlacing her bodice, I wondered at how suddenly her place had shifted in my mind. Before she has been an irreplaceable vessel, one I could not survive without. Somehow she had become a hiccup; a harmless yet unnecessary annoyance.

"How was it?" I asked, hoping it would distract me from these ill thoughts.

"Good. I was glad to meet the Jarl," she responded, and I knew part of it was true.

"The High Queen," I corrected. She blushed and shook her head.

"Right, sorry. That's what I meant," she explained, and I knew part of it was a lie. "What did you do tonight?"

"I went to the Temple."

"To check on the baby?" She slipped out of the bodice, and unlaced the collar.

"No," I started, thinking that perhaps I should have. "I'm a priestess again. I'm going to start working there." Runa nodded and she finished undressing. I handed her one of my own robes, before sitting back down on my bed.

"That's good," she said, sitting next to me. I was content that it didn't seem weird. "I know it always made you happy… You know, I really like the people from the Bard's College; they're very talented. I think we should join when they start accepting applicants."

"You mean the both of us?" I asked stupidly. She chortled thickly and I thought of string taffy, though I didn't know why. I smiled at her and I forgot about gold-plated everything as she took my hands.

"Don't you remember, Lorie?" I cocked my head, waiting. "We're talented women bards." I giggled, and I remembered why she could never steal what I had already given.

* * *

"So is everything all right?" Mother asked, as the old Priestess removed her hands from my midsection.

"It is healthy… around six weeks, is that right?" she responded. Her creepy smile proved somehow reassuring to me.

"Yes," I responded, trying not to blush. My heart felt heavy, remembering. Mother squeezed my shoulder, and I was thankful for it. "I think that's right."

There was a disconnect between me and the child growing inside of me. It did not feel real—it didn't feel like anything at all. I was scared because of it. I was afraid that I would have to force a reality upon myself, a reality that was inevitable. Was it not kinder to let me know, and understand the situation beforehand? I forgot so often that I was never alone, and when I did remember, I felt uncomfortable, violated. This person, or this  _thing_ , that I was responsible to  _make_  into a person, was harbouring inside my own body, and half the time it tricked me into believing it wasn't even real at all.

I thought maybe I should ask my mother, or just  _a_  mother. I could read a book, or tried to demand guidance from someone or some _thing_. But I couldn't and it was selfish, but selfishness was easy to forgive when the sinner was oneself.

I sighed, and sat up, kissing my mother goodbye before I returned to my duties.

* * *

There were six priests and priestesses attending the temple, seven including me. The oldest among them was the Head Priestess, Frier, a Nord woman who served Julianos. I'd recently learned she had been wife to Rorlund. She had a long, bitter face with full lips and long eyes. Her thin white hair was tied back tightly. She was old, though much younger than Rorlund had been. She welcomed me, though I knew our bond rested on unsteady water, knowing it was once her husband who had attended to Kynareth.

I remembered the Priest of Zenithar from when he had stood over my father's casket. His name was Sorik. His dark brown hair was lined with silver, and wrinkles marked his face. Still, his jaw was strong. He had a way of reassuring me that I could belong amongst them, and for that I was grateful.

The Priest of Stendarr was still an elf, though a male gold-skin with long, dramatic and pointed features. He did not speak to me, and judging from his serious expression and those mysteriously compassionate eyes, I was grateful.

Ingen was the name of the woman I remembered most clearly. Her hair was red as I remembered it, and I was half convinced that red hair never turned to grey. Her ears stuck out goofily, and I had to resist the urge to touch my own ears whenever I passed her.

The Priestess of Mara was young, and fresh, and devout. The Imperial woman had beaten, worn skin, but I could still see the prettiness youth had once blessed her with. It was Sorik who told me the temple had saved her, brought her in from the streets. I'd seen her many times sneak away with a basket of bread and fruit, only to return with nothing. I admired it, though it made me wonder why she had to sleuth.

The youngest amongst the ensemble was Ellina, the Priestess of Dibella. She had clean skin and copper hair. Once, her steely eyes had met mine from below her hood, and I'd dropped my eyes quickly, unable to take the blank grey judgement, approval, consideration.

They were a strange cast of people, and I felt weary for the first time inside the tall walls.

* * *

"Announcement! Announcement!" the courier ran down the street, holding a thick piece of parchment and waving it high up in the air. The crowd began to assemble, lining the edge of the street until the young messenger grew tired. "With the official ascension of Emperor Tobias the First, and the coronation of his wife, this day: the 10th of Mid-Year; all food, property, and service taxes have been raised by 4 percent. The war continues to rage, though this change will aid the Empire in finalizing the efforts to defend against the rebellion Stormcloaks!" Throughout the crowd, soft mumbling followed with grumbling, and when the protests began, the messenger added: "Official documentation and announcements, as well as the tax collectors will be sent out to your homes throughout the fortnight." Quickly, he left the crowd, afraid of the potential outrage. It was my own Thane Mother who spoke before the outrage could begin.

"Settle down, everyone! I know you have questions and protests, but please hold them. Open court will be held all day starting tomorrow morning at the Blue Palace, so please save your questions and inquiries until then!"

"We've got work tomorrow; we can't waste a day waitin' in some line for some house lady that won't do a thing!" a man from the back shouted.

"If you are unable to attend, send a letter or note to the Jarl's Steward, Falk Firebeard, who will see to it that your requests and complaints are considered, and fixed! Please, go on with your days!"

I looked around the crowd, and saw more than one woman grasp their husband's arm worriedly. A few others shouted back at my mother, who retreated into the inn. The merchants merely returned to their stalls, annoyed and worried. The beggars mumbled curses about war, and probably thanked the Gods for the irony that they paid no taxes.

Soon enough, the crowd dispersed, and I with it. I made my way to the temple, where I found everything as normal. Most Temple figures prayed or cleaned or healed. The Head Priestess was giving blessings to some of the youth of the city, all with clean skin and brushed hair, the children whom probably did not need any blessings.

Knowing I was not needed for anything else, I grabbed a cloth and a bucket of water, and began wiping the shrines from dirt, and dust, and reckless fingerprints. It was when I was about to clean Dibella's shrine when a low rumble of a voice called, "Sister Loralei." It was Sorik who faced me when I turned around. He looked at me calmly as I returned the curtesy.

"Brother Sorik."

"You have heard the news, if I am correct," he began, holding his hands behind his back.

"Yes, if you mean the tax raise. The way gossip spreads here, the whole world must know by now," I quipped. He chuckled politely, and I blushed out of modesty.

"Of course. Well, I assume that means you have also heard of the Mid-Year celebration. I expect you to be here that night. Mother Frier has decided to give free blessings that night, and I expect it will be busy."

I blinked, my mouth slightly agape. I had not realised temples charged for services. My eyes moved towards the crowd of clean children who were beginning to file out. I resisted a frown as Priestess Frier pocketed a bag of septims.

"I hadn't even realised we charged for blessings," I said stupidly, still confused. I didn't realise that it was some sort of business. He raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Most temples do… You haven't been giving free blessings, have you?" I blushed, shaking my head.

"Of course not, I've been taking care of other duties, Brother." He nodded, his brows now furrowed.

"Good. I realise that perhaps temples were not made to be businesses, but without the support, we could not think to host so many Priests and Priestesses, you see. Things work differently in the city."

"Yes, I know. I think I should get back to work now, if you'll excuse me." He nodded and walked away, hands still folded behind his back. I felt dirty as I wiped those shrines until they sparkled.

* * *

Only a few days later, I found myself alone with my Mother, sitting in the parlour. She was working, her spectacles on the tip of her nose. I wondered when she got spectacles. I don't think I realised how old she was really getting. With her head bent I could see the roots of her hair, which were turning silver. I wondered if she would dye it once it grew greyer.

Currently, she was flittering through documents, signing them here and there. I wondered only for a second what she was signing. But the thought passed, like I knew it always would. My heart gave a strange flutter when I saw her signature. It was messy, scrawled and pointy, and I smiled at the blue she never ran out of.

"You know, I never knew there was a Mid-Year celebration," I noted. Mother looked up, surprised I'd started a conversation. She pulled off her spectacles and let them drop on the table.

"There hasn't been one in a while… It's not a real Tamrielic celebration—that is, it hasn't been here since Gods know when… the Empire wanted to provide a distraction, but the way I see it, it's just a bribe," she said, grinning like she was the conspirator herself.

"I see…" I reached to take a sip of my wine when Mother reached over and smacked my arm. I pulled away, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Don't drink that… the Bosmer believe it harms the body. Your  _baby_ 's body," Mother said, pulling my wine glass away.

"That's all made up, Mother. They eat dead people to save  _plants_ ," I retorted, cocking a brow.

"They don't eat people instead of plants, Loralei. They use every part of the body of those they kill, to  _honour_  them." I rolled my eyes, but I didn't reach for my wine glass again.

* * *

Sorik had been right. Nearly everyone in Solitude had come to receive their blessing. I felt tired half way through the day, but I continued, knowing they deserved whatever the Gods had to offer. And I knew that these blessings were good, and free, and available. At least for the one day. I hoped they would encourage people to work hard, and hug their family and hold their lovers. I thought the blessings would bring guidance and wisdom. And for some of them, maybe the blessings worked, but for the rowdy men, and the proud women, it did something completely different.

The night of Mid-Year, one hundred and seventy-three Solitude men and women pulled their helmets on their heads, and held their swords in their hands as the divines rested on their shoulder. They hunted down a Stormcloak stronghold, not too far away, and with blessed buoyancy, and vengeful hearts, they wreaked havoc.

The Stormcloaks won that pitiful battle, and it was only the next day that news reached our city. I tried not to imagine their heads on wooden pikes all along those roads as Runa told me the story.

* * *

I stormed into the temple, my feet stomping against the floor. They were all on their knees praying. "What are you doing?!" I half shouted, startling them. Sorik stood up, his face strained, and pained. Ellina followed after, taking slightly longer to stand back up. Finally, Mother Frier stood.

"We are praying. One would think a Priestess would know what that looks like."

"Praying won't bring them back!"

"Necromancy might," she returned, completely unamused by me, and herself.

"This would have  _never_  happened if blessings didn't cost so much on a normal bases!" I said, hot fury building in me. I had never really been angry, and never had I screamed like this, especially not to someone with such authority. Mother did say pregnancy multiplies how much a woman could feel. Still, I continued, even though I was aware that my reasoning was weak, and it was  _un_ reasonable to have such an outburst.

"Even I can admit that the divines do not give us more than we were promised. But they have given us the freedom of  _choice_. Those men and those women abused this gift, and there is nothing but bad judgement and vengeance and taxes that caused that— _fight_ ," she said to me, calm resilience as she held her head high. Ingen looked at me worriedly.

"Blessings aren't a  _business_ ," I croaked, stiffening.

"Loralei—" Sorik started, probably trying to explain, or reason, or argue. But he stopped when Sautar the Altmer sent him a look.

"I am a disciple of Kynareth, and She communicates through me."

"No," Frier said, somehow stretching her neck a little higher. "You're a whore and the only communication you'll have with Kynareth from now on are those stupid little prayers you think she's listening to." I felt my heart rip, and my throat hitch, and if I had tried to say a word I would have burst into tears just then. Instead, I closed my mouth, held my breath and turned around. I resisted the urge to wrap my fingers around my amulet, which felt heavy on my neck.

* * *

Tibedetha was a grand celebration in Solitude every year on the 24th of Mid-Year. To celebrate Tiber Septim, the entire town would crowd the long street all the way from the main gates to the gates of the Blue Palace. Though it was not a Nord celebration, with the large influence of the Empire and its Imperials in Solitude, the city would pay thousands of Septims for a party in his name.

Some years before, the celebration had been hosted by the Blue Palace, who had chosen a costume theme. People had spent months making costumes of hagravens and skeevers, and all the beasts of the world. One year, years and years before, Vittoria Vicci had hosted, planning an elegant masquerade festival. In the year 4E 212, it was the Bard's College who hosted, and provided the funds for the celebration. They had chosen to do a rainbow-themed party. Thus, streamers of all the colours of the rainbow had been imported, cakes made of the brightest colours had been baked, and the citizens of Solitude had commissioned hundreds of suits and dresses adorned with fluorescent feathers and beads.

I could understand the city's desire for distraction, but it seemed  _so_ soon. Already, by the 24th of Mid-Year, it seemed like the tall, elegant, and wealthy city of Solitude was ready to forget the tragedy that befell hundreds of its citizens. There was a strange scent of blood, and discomfort that lingered in the air after those events and even my body felt heavy as I walked through the city, where all seemed so silent. Still, it seemed like such disrespect for the next festivity to continue.

Despite my moral conscience telling me it was wrong, I put on the bright, feathery frock Mother had bought for me, and I went out into the streets with Runa to celebrate in this festival of colour. By midafternoon, the streets were already crowded, and Runa held onto my hand so we wouldn't separate.

"You know, I heard they're looking for recruits," she shouted, as we passed some people dressed like colourful pheasant.

"Who?" I returned, as the crowd got louder and louder.

"The Bard's College! I swear, sometimes you have the brains of an orc!"

"That's very offensive, Runa!" I scolded, despite that I laughed at her quip anyway. "So, are you going to join?"

" _We_  are going to join, silly!" she laughed, pushing us passed a very tall gentleman.

"That's a nice idea Runa, but I'm not a bard, I'm a priestess," I reasoned, steadying Runa as she lost her balance in the crowd.

"Not anymore you're not," she reminded me, when she steadied. She stopped and I realised we were in front of the Blue Palace. It stood tall and welcoming, and I wondered what all those stories about great, menacing castles had gone on about. "That elf over there is the recruiter, main person."

"The headmaster?" I guessed, and she nodded excitedly.

"Yes, whatever. Anyhow, he is rich, and influential, and if we can impress him, we're sure to get an early spot!" She smiled, and I bit my lip. She grabbed my hands and I saw the plea in her eyes. Her hands felt reassuring on mine, and I nodded.

"Okay," I said. She let go of my hands and stood up straight. She adjusted her silver ring before pushing forward to the Altmer with a lute and a song. It took a moment for me to follow, but I did.

We played with the Altmer the entire night, and when it was over, he said to us, "In the fall, it would be an honour to have you at our school!" I thought Runa would cry, or jump, or hug me. Instead, she smiled like she had a secret, and gave a small curtsy, before telling him it would be an honour. It was only later, when it was just her, and Lucia and me, that she cried, and jumped, and we all hugged in celebration.

* * *

The first days of Last Seed were the hottest of my life. The only thing that saved me from nearly dying of heat and exhaustion were Lucia and my boat rides. Runa had come at first, but we had soon discovered that boats and open water were not quite her fancy. Nearly every day, Lucia and I would put on long, floppy hats that were becoming strangely popular, and we would put on our lightest clothes, and head to the docks.

Our small little boat was sturdy, and had cost a small fortune, but every day, when we would row out to the middle of the lake, and swim, we would not think of the tiny little dent we'd put in my Thane mother's savings.

There were days and days of lake water bliss, all until on the 10th of Last Seed, 4E 212, when the East Empire Company banned all non-company related business. Lucia had resorted instead to attending Temple all day, where the tall walls and lack of light brought coolness. She had asked me to join her, but for pride or shame, I said no, and let her bounce off alone. I had been invited to join Runa for tea with Elisif and her attendants, but I knew it would only be an insult to the High Queen to take a seat amongst her. I would have felt hurt or chastened, but it only seemed ironic, and through the foggy, veiled view of my life, it didn't seem to matter to me or anyone else at all.

That was how I ended up, on one of the sunniest days in the past years, at the Solitude Stables, with the stench of manure and sweat flooding my nostrils. I was petting Birdie, who nuzzled into my palm when someone spoke, "Is there anything I can do for you ma'am?"

I turned, and in front of me stood a tall boy, around my age, with broad shoulders. His skin was dark and dirty, and his reddish brown hair was cropped closely to his head. He smiled warmly, his eyes scrunched from the sunlight.

"Are you the stable boy?" I asked calmly, still stroking Birdie's mane. I hadn't realised how long it had been since I'd last seen her. I looked over to Bam Bam, who whinnied softly. I wondered how long it had been since he'd last seen Runa.

"Aye, ma'am."  _He has a nice smile_ , I noted. Still, the stable boy's smile was unlike  _his_. I blushed when I thought of those cocky dimples.

Bam Bam's whinny broke my thought, and I had to blink to stabilize. I reminded myself not to think of him.

"Do you ride?" I found myself asking, reaching for an apple to toss at Bam Bam.

"Aye, ma'am. Not too well, but I do alright on a good horse." I laughed softly as Bam Bam caught the apple.

"You'd better take Birdie then." He frowned, and I reached for her saddle. "Okay, so I need you to saddle Birdie and Bam Bam, if you don't mind. And if you have some time, I'd like you to join me."

The stable boy blinked and then nodded. He saddled the horses with ease, and before long, we were trotting up the road.

"What's your name?" I finally asked him when it became clear he would not speak first. It was strange to me, to ask the first question. But I figured I was playing a part of some sort, I was not the quiet, nonchalant, disturbed and shamed daughter of the Thane and Dragonborn. For now, I convinced myself, I was just a girl too hot to stay still, who happened to have two horses.

"I'm Blaise," he said, trotting up beside me. "Who are you, ma'am?"

"I'm Loralei," I told him, turning redder because I'd planned to tell him a false name. "Have you worked at the stables for a long time?"

"A while…" He paused, and I let him. "See, both my parents were in the Legion. There was... an ambush. Katla said she could feed me if I could make myself useful. I take care of the animals, run errands, that kind of thing. I guess it could be worse. I mean, at least I don't have to sleep outside anymore." He laughed a little, and I smiled, and I wondered at how this seemed so simple.

"Did they really make you sleep outside?" I said, turning to him. He looked ahead, simple contentment on his face.

"Never in the winter, but once they got used to me, that made me a little cot in the house." He turned to look at me, and I would have blushed that he saw me looking, but the look he gave me was sincere, innocent, accusing in no way.

"I know this may seem strange to say, but I'm quite familiar with orphans." He frowned, but let me continue, and I was thankful he was not offended. "Well, my best friend Runa, who has lived with me for a few years now, she's an orphan. She lived in the Honorhall Orphanage down in Riften up until they told her to leave… My mother too, she never knew her parents… Oh! And we've taken in this little girl from Whiterun, called Lucia. She was living on the streets, begging for some coin when I found her."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "You like to harbour them." I laughed and shook my head.

"I prefer the term  _collect_."

"So, both your parents are alive and well then?"

"No… my first father died when I was six. And my twin brother not long after …"

"What do you mean by your  _first_ pa?" Blaise asked, breaking what would have been a long, awkward silence.

"Well, my mother married twice after," I explained, scolding myself for speaking of my mother. "But it doesn't matter," I added quickly. Before he could say anything, I kicked Bam Bam gently and started forward. "C'mon, let's race!"

* * *

Truth be told, I did not think of Lars much. I saw and felt him everywhere though. Little things like laughs or curls or fancy grey-blue tunics, and visions and memories would flash through the back of my mind. And whenever this occurred, I'd be left wondering why he wasn't on my mind more. Sometimes I could convince myself that I never really loved him, or that I loved him no longer. I'd read so many books about heartbreak and distance, that true love never went away, and distance made the heart grow fonder. So it couldn't  _possibly_ have been love. But even I was wise enough to know that was not the case. I wondered instead if it was normal to forget those who have seemingly wronged you, or to forget those who are no longer around. But I knew too much from my mother, from my father, to know this was not true either.

No one had asked me either. Not about him and rarely even about what he had left me with. No one even wondered why he hadn't stayed, or why I didn't either. No one asked if I wanted to. And this I could understand from my mother, who wasn't there, and could never be expected to ever be  _there_. And I could understand Lucia, who did not even know what was happening. And still, after so much, I could understand Runa, who never knew which questions she was supposed to ask.

I always figured that when asked a question, the truth would always be the first thing I think, the first thing I let through the barriers of my mouth. And maybe that wasn't the most accurate way to find the truth, but it was what I relied on, because how else could I find what was real? Who could  _I_  ask?

I did not have a doting Mother, with wisdom, and guidance and answers. I did not have a best friend who knew all the right things to say, and when to say them. I had a guardian, but it had been obvious that perhaps she was not  _mine._  I did not have a lover or a husband, or a Lars to tell me a joke, and that it would be okay because his family had it all, and I was his family.

It was only when I realised all that I did not have, that I realised that if the only one that I had was the child that was cursed upon my body, that really, I was completely, and utterly alone.

* * *

I watched as a rich man called Aquillius Aeresius claimed Vittoria Vicci's home as his own. I wondered why for a moment that veil that had seemed to protect me, was lifted, and I was blinded until I forced it back over the world.

* * *

On the 4th of Heart-Fire, I watched as Kayd and Minette announced their betrothal, and I found my hand resting on my swelling child, unable to let it go unnoticed for that one moment. I left it there, though it felt so strange. I left it there because it felt warm, and comforting, and it was for the both of us.

* * *

"It's getting big," Lydia noted; helping me slip into one of my more difficult dresses.

"What is?" I asked, distant as I watched us in the mirror.

The scene reminded me of a time long ago, with a silver brush and a song. Except Lydia was old now, with lines and scars she had not had before. She had a new wisdom that came with being old, and I wondered how I hadn't noticed before. I was different too. I had changed far more than she, though it had more to do with the nature of growing up than growing old. My freckles were darker now. The line of my jaw seemed so sharp it could break skin. My hair was short now, cut off quickly, for practical and seasonal reasons. My midsection was swollen. For a stupid moment I thought I was bloated. I wasn't, not really.

"Your child," she responded, making me blush just a little. It was strange how I had not noticed the bump before. It wasn't too large, but it was visible, and I wondered why it still felt like nothing. I moved my hands to its swell, and glided it over the fabric of my gown.

"My child," I repeated, still looking in the tall mirror, wondering and understanding why that was so wrong and so extraordinary.

I met Lydia's eyes in the mirror. This would be the moment for something to happen between us, at least that was what it seemed like. There would be a breakdown or a meltdown, and maybe we would apologize, or maybe we would say something we'd be sorry for later. Or maybe she would hug me, or I would grab her hand and ask her questions. There was supposed to be tears and relief and closure, where there hadn't been in what seemed like  _years_ —what probably  _had_  been years.

But instead of a revolutionary moment that the two of us thought we were waiting for, we merely stood still. Our eyes locked in the mirror, and that was where they rested. My hand, gliding back and forth over the fabric never stopped. We blinked and we breathed, and this moment that wasn't a moment at all lasted a long time, until my hand stopped, and Runa called for us.

I wondered if Lydia had felt it too—felt that sense of what should have happened. But maybe she just looked at us in the mirror and thought of silver brushes and songs, and convinced herself that nothing had changed.

How would I know?

* * *

"Why did you bring me to the Temple?" I asked my mother as we walked up to the tall doors one early morning in the early days of Heart-Fire.

"Don't you want to know the gender of the child?" she asked me, a dark red brow cocking.

"I hadn't really thought about it," I admitted. The tall, heavy doors groaned loudly as she pushed through.

"Well, we have a nursery to decorate, Loralei," she said with a sly grin. It wasn't the first time I decided I did not like this smiley version of Mother.

She led me to Silana and she brought me to a sickbed. I lay down and closed my eyes as her hands touched my swelling bump. I tried to imagine, or guess what gender it would be; whether I had a preference. I wondered what names I liked, whether I would name him or her after my mother or my father. I tried forcing myself to picture it; picture it now, swelling inside of me, and after it's born, lying in my arms.

But those were forced thoughts, and not my own imaginations, and I couldn't even scold myself. I tried to feel shame, but what was I ashamed of? How could I have known Lars would leave me? How could I have known I'd have such a disinterest with this child? How could I have prevented it? It was not my fault; it was not Lars', and even I could not blame the child.

I almost didn't hear Silana when she said it.

"Girl."

* * *

"This is so exciting," she said calmly, holding her composure, like a fine rich lady.

"Yeah," I said, slouching in my seat. Runa sent me a side glance, and then looked away.

"Sit up—people will think you're obtuse.  _Don't_  embarrass me, Loralei," she warned. I straightened myself as the professor walked in. She was an old, ugly lady who must have been frowning for the past ninety years. "Inge Six-Fingers, one of the most respected bards here," Runa whispered to me.

The teacher took to the podium before looking around the room, meeting each of our eyes, one at a time. When her eyes met mine, her lip twitched into almost a snarl before she settled on my bump. It seemed forever before our flirtation was over.

I shifted in my seat, suddenly hot and uncomfortable as she took her turn with everyone else. I felt only a little shame, though only because she had managed to bother me.

"As some of you here may know, I'm the dean of lute at the Bards College, and no, I don't give private lessons," she began. Her voice scraped like nails against a chalk board. "And don't be fooled, I'm not special, or  _talented_. Talent doesn't exist. The only reason  _I'm_  so good with a lute is because I'm old. It takes a lifetime to master. That's why I don't know why any of  _you_  even bother! You're all too damned old! Start past four and it's all wasted effort." She grinned to herself, though it was more like a sneer. "But I have the two things all good teachers need… The first is patience. The second is a firm wooden stick for rapping knuckles." She laughed to herself, and I felt Runa shift beside me. She too remembered someone from long ago, who somehow lingered whenever we looked close enough into the flames.

* * *

"So, I hear you plan a Frostfall wedding?" Runa asked politely, taking a small sip of wine. I went to pour myself some before Runa tapped my hand and sent me a look. I removed my hand, and sat back in my chair while Minette watched the exchange. I scolded myself for being so placating.

"Yes, actually… but it's going to be very small." She glanced at me only for a moment, before looking away guiltily. For once I did not have to wonder why.

* * *

Preparations for Torygg's Ball started the 25th of Heart-Fire. Mother bought me a dress, and when I put it on, it hid my daughter so well that it was even easier to forget.

* * *

I had thought to bring Runa with me to Torygg's Ball the first time I'd went, but it was a young, handsome, and wealthy (of course), boy from Dragonsbridge who escorted her.

No one danced with me, and I was a fool to think a mask and a dress would hide my identity— _our_  identity. Perhaps I should have felt ashamed. Everyone else seemed to think so.

* * *

The tenth of Frostfall was a cold day. The wind whipped against skin and gusted through hair, left noses red and fingers numb. Still, I could not stay inside my house while citizens dressed their best and their warmest and celebrated in the streets of Solitude, cheering for the bride and groom. I could hear Runa's cheer from the crowd, and though I knew it shouldn't have, the sound of her voice lashed at my body harder than even the wind.

I pulled the hood of my cloak around my head, and held it closer around me as I weaved my way through the crowd.

I should have felt more hurt to be excluded from Minette's wedding. We had been friends and comrades as children. Not to mention, I was wealthy, the daughter of someone famous, rich, and noble. But all things considered, Minette meant nothing to me.

I remembered her as a sweet girl, with good kind parents who loved the divines and loved their city. She was plain, but happy, and I never wished her harm. But she was nothing, to me at least. Perhaps Kayd saw her as the love of his life, the girl next door. And maybe for him she was memories and laughter and even love. And I was fine with that. But to me, she was a familiar scent: untraceable in my collected memories, but not new. She was not however the colour blue, or grey, or white, not a song that seemed to linger in every vibration. She was a girl who didn't invite me to a wedding that I didn't really care about.

If truth be told, as I pushed through the gates of Solitude, she was not on my mind at all. I thought only of the thrashing cold, and a silver ring, and the apples growing heavier in my bag.

I smiled when I saw Blaise, nose and cheeks rosy from the weather. He was brushing a grey horse, slowly, attentively, and I almost felt guilty for interrupting him. "Blaise!"

He turned, smiling when he saw me, and I felt glad to have a friend. Even if it was only one.

* * *

"Ugh, History is such a  _drag_ ," Runa sighed, receiving approving nods from both Aia and Illdi, who had recently taken to hanging around Runa and I.

"I don't see why we need this nonsense, this is a music, and talent, not about dates and lectures," Aia added, adjusting her cap slightly. She was a tired girl, with pale and sickly skin which was stretched over her thin little bones.

"Yeah," Illdi agreed, helping Aia retie her cap. "Dean Giraud gives so many essays too! I never have any time for practice lately."

"Illdi, don't look now, but Ataf is staring at you again." Runa laughed, modestly covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Illdi blushed, shaking her head a little.

"He's  _always_  making eyes at me lately!" she complained, keeping her eyes on Runa.

"You should tell him to mind his own business," Aia said stonily, leaning back in her chair. The Dean of History's shoes clicked loudly as he walked in, holding himself with a grace that came with age and knowledge.

Illdi chuckled as she prepared for the lesson, only leaning over to Aia. "You're so mean," she whispered.

"Have it your way then," Aia responded dryly, and Runa smirked.

* * *

_30_ _th_ _of Frostfall, 4E 212_

_Loralei,_

_It isn't actually the 30_ _th_ _, not just yet at least. But I've made sure it arrives to you then._

_It is only because you are an old friend, and a noble that I am confiding in you. I just wanted you to know before it's announced today._

_But first, I want you to know that I am sorry I haven't written in so long, but the circumstances haven't quite let me. Of course I'm happy and all and perfectly comfortable. My husband Tobias is a fine young man, and he is good to me. I_   _live in a beautiful palace, and the Imperial City has become home. It's huge, and so much different than Whiterun. I don't really miss it, so that's good._

_Anyway, the wedding was beautiful, as you have probably heard, and my coronation was a grand event._

_So, now that the introduction has finished, I must tell you the news._

_I am pregnant. I am a few moons along now, and the child is swelling well._

_Cordially,_  
Dagny,  
Empress, first of her name

_P.S.I heard Mila had joined the army… have you heard from her?_

_P.P.S. I hope our children may meet one day, and if you need anything, a place to stay or anything, I'll always be here, for the rest of my life… so you will know where you can find me._

* * *

The next few weeks were miserable. I found solace in some places, like school, or at the stables. The lessons were inspiring and instructive, and I was pleased with the growing praises and the receding scolds. The dean of history complimented my fingers, telling me they had been sculpted by the gods themselves to wield a lute. I smiled brightly and broadly, and I was proud when the smile didn't falter in doubt or embarrassment, not even when I noticed Runa check her own fingers slightly, rolling them into a fist when she saw hard, Nord hands.

 _Even_  the girls who flitted around Runa learned to send a smile and a wave my way. I felt reassured, stronger when they looked at my face, my eyes, my freckles, rather than the swelling of the child growing beneath my dress. With each smile passed my way, the politeness and the courtesies melted into sincerity. All except Runa's smiles though. She only nodded and patted my shoulder or my thigh in a pretense of comradery, and when we returned home, she would be too exhausted to look at me, much less smile. It made me wonder what game she was playing at. What was her goal? Why did she believe she needed to raise her neck an inch higher than Aia, have skin like porcelain, lighter than even Illdi's.

I wondered how blind or stupid the girls must have been, not to see through it all. I wished Runa wouldn't be that way. She had once had so much to offer, whether it was rudeness and crudeness, or the rashness of a girl who grew up with boys. She'd had spirit and wit, and her blue eyes had once shone like icicles ready to shoot down on your head at any moment. She had once been alert and dazed, and confused and  _sweet_  in the purest sense of the word; a childlike kind of honey that was honest and real, naïve and yet so aware.

It seemed sudden to me, how she had changed, but maybe I was too distracted to notice. For a moment I wondered if it was my fault, but I knew that could not have been true. There was no not-paying-attention when it came to Runa, not for me at least. I watched her, and I could not help it. I noticed her blinks, and I tested her movements, which had once been awkward and out of place, yet somehow still pretty. A pretty girl like Runa—a girl with a past and dreams of a certain future; how could I not pay close attention—observe her like she thought she deserved to be observed? So it must have been quick, like a flicker in a flame, a change in the direction of the wind. She must have rebuilt herself from ivory the moment I looked away.

Still, at night she twirled that horrible ring, a satisfied smile on her face as she sat in the parlour, tired and worn, so it must have been enough for her; finally.

I tried to be glad for that. But it wasn't enough for me.

I needed the girl who danced with me; the girl who called my mother bad names just because she said what she thought was true. I wanted the girl with hair like spun gold and a laugh that I never realised would become so rare.

So I found what I believed I needed. And he was a stable boy who stank of horse and asked too many questions. In the long nights when I wouldn't be able to sleep from the sweat or the chill, nausea inflaming my body like I was burning from the inside out, I would wrap my cloak around me, put my boots on, struggling because of the belly that I, and many others, found increasingly difficult to ignore. I would walk out, even in the autumn cold, and I knew he would be awake too. Sometimes we'd say nothing as he'd saddle the horses, helping me onto the saddle.

Sometimes the conversation would roll smoothly, steadily, excitedly. It was nice to have a friend who had nothing on his mind but the wind and the stink, and the roll of my voice. He thought sometimes of his past. I could tell by the way he would look away from me, letting his eyes focus and memorize our surroundings. He wondered sometimes if his parents had walked the same route, he wondered if they had ever seen the strange beauty in the silhouette of a faun running from the moon. There were times when he would stare up at the dark sky and his lips would part a little, and he would wonder if they looked at the same stars, thinking of him and his little mouth.

I looked around me too. I felt my hands as they grazed the ground, frozen dirt gathering between my fingernails. I watched as the trees swayed in the distance, across the river. I listened to the soft, perilous breaths of night. I listened to my own. I breathed lightly, shallow as I took in breath, and I wondered once again at my nonchalance towards life. Runa had always breathed deeply.

* * *

Blaise and I sat in a little opening at the edge of a river, whose waters seemed too still for the season. We had never spoken of it, but it seemed the horses, or even we ourselves had been drawn to it, finding ourselves in the same spot several times a week.

On the 15th of Sun's Dusk, my head whirled and I could only breathe thinly through my nostrils. Not even the fresh, biting winds off the river could help me. Blaise rubbed my back rhythmically, and it was comforting.

"You know, there are potions that can help you with that," he said, a concerned look in his dark eyes.

"How would you know that?" I asked, feeling the paleness in my face. Not even the fall cold brought blood back up to my head. Blaise recoiled, blushing softly.

"Sorry ma'am, I just assumed there's a potion for anything." He smiled weakly, still eyeing me nervously. "I heard a traveller who tried to sell us potions of invisibility!" I snickered and shook my head.

"Probably a scam," I said, looking ahead when I remembered my illness. "Still, I'm sure there's a chance. I mean, there's a whole college of Magics, and I've healed hundreds of men and women with my own hands. But I doubt they go around selling potions of invisibility to  _anyone_." I turned; scared I might have offended him. I prepared myself to console him, to tell him that he and his foster family were no less than mine. Instead, I found him apprehensive, nodding. Pride was a strange thing, and I was glad that for Blaise, and for me, it wasn't a flaw.

"I guess you're right," he said, his arm moving from my back to fall into his lap carelessly. "So, what's going on in the big city this week?"

I smiled, and leaned back, letting myself fall slowly into the cold grass. My hands found their way to my belly, exposed to the shield of sky. "Well, actually, the burning of King Olaf is this Loredas… Runa and I were asked to play before the burning." I turned my head sideways. He was looking down at me, friendly, calm.

"For true?" he asked, knowing the answer. I nodded and he lay down next to me.

"You should come," I said, meaning it. He smiled, and I didn't forget to appreciate its candor. You never know when you're going to miss it.

* * *

Runa and I sang before the flames, and when she took her praise, I looked away. Maybe she didn't deserve the observation. I remembered Blaise's smile, the way it never changed, and though my amulet still hung heavy on my neck, I prayed for simplicity like him.

* * *

I had not realised how I had been neglecting Lucia over the last months, and I felt some shame in my heart when at first she had been reluctant to spend the day with me, clutching on to Lydia's hand. My heart had shuddered when I saw it. And I knew it was nothing, but I couldn't ever forget that Lydia had always held my hand. I had those callused, rough old hands memorised, but I had to blink, and steady my heart when I wondered if Lucia had it memorised too.

I had held back my tears when Lydia told me she would adopt Lucia. I did not keep them long, and it had hurt me deeply. At first it had felt like a stick, stabbed straight through my chest, wounding me heavily, letting me bleed out bare. But later it was clear it was not that at all. It was instead like the cool air slapping against my hand as Lydia finally let it go, after years of me trying to hold on to the warmth, the sweat of her palm.

I still could not speak to Lydia, but Lucia was a child, and one I cared of, one I did not want to let go and forget, like the people who had forgotten me. So, as the weeks passed in Sun's Dusk, I spent my time between school and the stables, and the little alchemy lab I had set up for Lucia and I to play and learn with (Runa was never invited, she pretended not to notice).

"So, Lucia, tell me, what are the ingredients to a restore health potion?" I asked, sitting with her on the cold, stone floor of the basement. Today I had a day off, and I had somehow managed to rebuff Runa's insistence on going for a market stroll. I had been managing quite well at rebuffing her in the past couple weeks.

"Um…" she said, biting her lip. She scanned the bowls of ingredients in front of her, her hand hesitating in the air above them. She moved it around, over each bowl as if it would somehow help. She picked up a blue petal and smiled before blowing it into my face. I scrunched my nose and flicked it away, smiling when I heard her giggle.

"Good… what others?" It was a trick, a nasty little thing on my part. I wondered if she would catch on. I had placed thirteen different ingredients in little wooden bowls I had found at some stall a few months before. However, all of the contents of the wooden bowl contained the correct answer.

Lucia was smart though, much smarter than I had originally thought, if truth be told. And slowly, one by one, she set aside the ingredients.

"And what's that one called?" I asked her, when she reached the fifth ingredient. She gave me a toothy smile, confident she knew the answer.

"Swamp fungal pod!" she shouted, setting it next to the fake Daedra heart I had found (I'd be crazy to let her near a real one).

"And what is special about them?" I asked, smirking at my little prodigy.

"They are only found in Haafingar!" I scrunched my nose again and she giggled, even when I shook my head.

"You're so close, Lucia. It's Hjaalmarch… where we live!" She laughed and shrugged, continuing on with our little learning game.

 _She's not like me_ , I thought as I did my best to teach her. Perhaps it was that she had a little ball of light that touched her skin, even when it was dirty. I imagined it circling her bones, leaving a trail of lightness and naivety. Mayhap I had been naïve once, maybe even light and joyful. But it was never difficult to resent my own wisdom, the one that came from seeing grey and green and blue through eyes that were never bare. I thought perhaps my veil of apathy had protected me, but now I wondered what it would be like to see life through the first person, in a naked, young, and dirty kind of way.

Maybe there was a potion for it.

* * *

"Have you been ignoring me?" she demanded when we were alone, in some hallway with a name and a purpose I still don't care to remember. The Bard's College was a big and old place, meant for curious girls with thirsty hearts and gold-spun hair.

"Yes." I didn't lie. She didn't deserve lies. I was still undecided if she deserved the truth.

"Why?" It came out aggressive, like a burp in her throat, and I forced myself not to cringe.

"Because I don't like you," I admitted, trying to be smooth, steady. I tried to believe myself. She faltered for a moment, before kneading her ivory mold into a proper girl, with pride and wealth.

"And why do you say that?" Runa whispered, strained.

"Because I like  _Runa_ , and  _you_  have taken her from me," I explained, surprising myself with the youthful stubbornness she had somehow brought out. She glanced around the room, and I wondered if she was checking to see if anyone heard what I said or if anyone would hear what she would respond. The latter:

"You're just a jealous bat. That stupid girl you call Runa was a poor, helpless little girl.  _This_  Runa has earned her  _right_  to be a bitch!" She stormed off, and I follow her from far behind. We shared the same classes.

* * *

"She actually said that?!" Blaise laughed, throwing his head back and clapping his hands like a child. I nodded, smiling, knowing the only reason it was okay to laugh about it was because that outburst was not from the Runa that horrible girl called a bitch, it was the Runa with eyes like icicles. Mayhap it was the only sign so far, but it had filled me with a content that made me feel shame like a maiden losing her virginity. I had blushed when the thought crossed my mind, laughing as I placed my hand on my belly. My daughter seemed to laugh too.

* * *

I felt her move for the first time at the end of Sun's Dusk, while I lay in a soft featherbed with my mother. She had joined me randomly, bringing me tea for my sickness. We spoke of soft things, things that no one really cared about. Her hair was messy, draped over a pillow at the foot of the bed. The house was quiet, and soft, swaying with the world.

It was a little kick and then a little swerve and I felt it all. My mother jumped up excitedly when I told her and I smiled when she moved to touch my abdomen. Her hand connected and the child moved, all at once. She smiled up at me, green eyes twinkling.  _I hope she has those eyes_. My amulet throbbed against my chest. Or was it my heart.

* * *

The snow fell lightly for the first time the day we were officially made bards. It was all joyous and happy and inebriated until Runa approached me. She stood feet away from me and told me she was leaving and I tried not to cry. But I couldn't stop and she watched me while I cried in front of her, in front of everyone, and the only thing that stopped me from falling was that I would not be able to get up. She only looked at me and I didn't want to look up at her because I didn't want to see porcelain or ivory or disgust or pity. My mother took my shoulders and led me away and all I could think of was how she had called my mother bad names and I had laughed and she was left unashamed.

* * *

She and the other bards left the next day, off to travel and make music and memories. I spent the rest of the month in my room, looking out at Vittoria's house, pretending I was a little girl, excited and confused as I listened to her stories. I put my cheek against the cold wet window and sighed, knowing winter would never feel the same again.

* * *

Somehow I had managed to migrate to the temple, maneuvering through the crowds on the night of the Old Life festival. I ignored the cold as I walked, and I tried not to feel the cool of the tall door's handle. All the priests and priestesses knelt in a semicircle around the shrines, an empty spot between Ellina and Sorik. They must have heard the clacking of my heeled boots, but none of them moved. I walked slowly towards the empty spot. It was only then that the two priestesses beside it looked up, grabbing my elbows to help steady me as I knelt. Ellina squeezed my hand so softly before letting go, that someone who paid less attention would have missed it.

Ellina and Sorik said nothing as they returned to their prayers.

I looked up at Her shrine, the moonstones of the owl's eyes judging down on me. The iron looked solemn and unkempt. I moved my hands to touch my amulet, never looking away from the shrine. Its eyes seemed to widen, the milky white brightening, ready to let me back into Her divine soul, ready to encircle her wings around my body. I resisted a smile as my amulet felt lighter.

My prayers flowed through me like I knew they would. I prayed for Lars, and I hoped he was well. I hoped he touched fine cherry-wood and remembered its value, how maybe it could make a girl fall in love. I hoped he saw the lutes hanging in his house and listen to music and remember how they sounded luxurious, the way honey poured over sugar would sound. I hoped he still had pride and looked at the world like a rich man rather than a greedy man.

For Runa, I prayed she found happiness, contentment. I hoped she would learn to love simplicity like my mother never could.

I prayed for Dagny too, with her child and with her husband. I prayed she got all she ever wanted, and though I knew she hadn't, I prayed she'd learn to be alright with it. I prayed for Mila, and I hoped she'd find a girl that tasted like honey, and made her smile like she was rich.

I even prayed for the dead, who seemed to be so many. I prayed for them, though I didn't know what they would want,  _if_  they could want. So I said their names, like it was my fault, and asked for forgiveness. I said their names, one after the other.

Onmund. Hroar. Skeever. Belrund. Matilda. Carlotta. Balgruuf.

Jon. Alarik.

Nelkir.  _Nelkir_.

Rorlund.

**_Vittoria._ **

* * *

She was born the 22nd of Morning Star, 4E 213, a pink-faced wrinkly babe who looked up at me with my own eyes. She squeezed my fingers in her tiny hands.

Lucia placed a flower with blue petals on my bed and she kissed the top of the baby's head.

My heart ached when she asked it. It ached when I said it. I had said it so many times in my head, and it felt like a dream to say her— _their_  name out loud.

" _Vittoria._ "

* * *


	11. You did not choose me

My daughter had green eyes, like mine, and like her grandmother's. She cried a lot; when she was hungry or when she wet herself, when she wanted attention. She slept too. She would fall asleep easily in my arms, and though I hoped she was comfortable, I was not. I felt awkward and out of place. Often I had an inexplicable urge to return the child to her mother before I would realise my mistake.

"Talk to her," Lydia coaxed, and I would try, but my words felt hitched in my throat.

"Sing to her," my own mother suggested once. I sang her some old nursery hymn, which had coaxed me into slumber only once, years and years ago. Only, Vittoria screamed louder than she had before.

When Elaira could see my incompetence at motherhood, we hired a wet nurse named Lila, who agreed to come to Falkreath with us. She was a waiflike young girl, a few years younger than even me. She had mousy brown hair and dark, doe eyes. Her arms were skinny, but there was something matronly about them; the way they held Vittoria as if she were her own. Vittoria took to her well, and while she lay in Lila's arms, the both of us were at ease.

Still, I felt heavy in my heart when I saw Lila and Vittoria together, seemingly like Mother and Daughter. Lila knew how my girl liked to be carried; she knew the soft tunes to sing. Vittoria listened carefully to her little tales and swooned to the song of her girly little voice.

Though I knew I was no more a competent mother than I had ever been, it still felt wrong that I should be so distant, so much so that I could run away and Vittoria would not know the difference… Even Elaira had loved me once. In one of her evolutions, she had been a real, true mother. Yet somehow I could not be. It seemed easy to blame my mother, for the example she had been for me: distant, indifferent, and so large there was no room left for me to grow. If anything though, I should have made myself better because of how she was to me.

A tremble in my bones suggested it could have been Lars' fault for leaving me with his child, blaming me for what was both our doing. But really I had never blamed him, nor given him a second thought. He was gone now, and I had accepted that the moment it had happened.

This distance, this passive neglect of Vittoria was my own fault. I was supposed to pull the pieces of my heart together, enough to love her, if not for her than for me. I had spent all my pregnancy forgetting because I'd thought when she was here I would change, and it would be instant: the love I would have for her. But I didn't—I couldn't love her. She may have been half me, half of a dumb boy, but as the weeks passed, and days would pass between the moments I took her in my arms, I knew that for the rest of her life she would just have to be a different person all together; neither me or him.

* * *

"I guess you can't go riding," he said. His eyes twinkled, and a small grin met my lips. I had come to say goodbye; we would leave three days until we left. My legs soared with pain from the little walk, but I ignored it, knowing I would regret not visiting Blaise.

"No, not for a while." He nodded. His eyes shifted lower, towards my abdomen.

"It's strange to see you without your belly," he noted. I placed my hand where it had been, and was surprised from its deflation. It wasn't flat, and mother told me it would not be flat for a while, but it was not the solid, roundness it had been only weeks ago.

"It's strange not having it…" He nodded once more, looking back up at my face.

"How is she?" he asked.

"I named her Vittoria," I said, remembering her fat little cheeks. "She's well, and she's taken a liking to her wet nurse."

"I'm glad!" Blaise smiled, and I wondered if he felt awkward too. I couldn't remember if he knew I was leaving. The air was sharp even as the sun lay lazily in the sky, and my skin felt tight from the cold. Blaise looked comfortable, warm and content despite being dressed only in thin breeches and a fall cloak. He looked away as the branches rustled around us, the snow falling in a miniature blizzard.

Blaise and I said no words for a while, and I realised that I would miss the softness of our friendship, how when we had nothing to say, we said nothing. I would long for his steady smile, the way he always seemed to be so warm. Blaise was a presence which was heavy the same as it was light.

He was watching a rabbit hop behind a bush when I spoke again. "Well, I came down here to say goodbye, actually. Our estate in Falkreath is ready, you see." I explained, trying to read his expression when he looked back over. His smile faltered. He fixed it quickly with a lazy grin when he noticed. Suddenly, sans provocation, Blaise stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug. He was warm and strong, and smelled like the wind, the kind that whipped at our faces as we rode on the backs of our horses.

"I'll miss you," he mumbled into my shoulder, and I nodded. My heart swelled only a little and I wished I could stay here with him and we could pretend we were children. I imagined the little boy he once was, with skin so dark and red and dirty. I imagined me, dressed in rags, and fat with youth, missing nothing, and wanting everything. I imagined us together, holding calloused hands. We were friends, and good ones at that, whose futures were large and as entwined as our chubby fingers.

Even though it was just a silly dream of a past that never happened, I knew Blaise was important; to me, to the world, to my horses. He wasn't Runa, and he wasn't Lydia—he was  _Blaise_.

"Come visit us, though… you know, you're my only friend." He nodded now, and I broke our hug. The walk back hurt more.

* * *

Lila had gone with Lydia and Lucia. It was only Elaira, Vittoria and I in the carriage. We rode in the newer carriage, now tarnished with its own wear. Mother stayed silent, bearing a small smile as she looked out the window. Her eyes were lazy as they watched the view pass by. I felt light and heavy when I looked down at the infant in my arms. Vittoria's small mouth was curved into a nostalgic smile, and her green eyes rose up to me with a curiosity I had never had. I felt her body expand as she took in breath, and it was strange to think it was breath I had given her.

I felt only a little pull at my heart when I gave her over to Lila once we reached Dragonsbridge.

* * *

I had only been to the manor once before, during a long, hot summer, the year Hroar and I had turned four. The manor was a short ride from Falkreath, up a slope where the trees had been chopped down to make a clearing which overlooked the lake for which it earned its namesake.

As we made our way, I remembered the soft summer wind as it wisped through my hair while my brother and I had leaned over the balcony rail. The gentle had waves kissed the shore, with a soft  _whoosh_ ; the bugs whizzed near the tall, pines, their  _buzz_  turning into background noise.

When it had rained, which it often did in Falkreath Hold, we'd gathered in the main hall, and the cook Alexander had brought us fresh fruit. Their juices had bit freshly against the humidity. Summer rains had tapped against the walls of the manor and my heart had steadied to its beat as I'd looked around me.

Mother would discuss money and horses and the necessities of the year with Adelaissa Vedicci. She had been an old Imperial, with the look of someone I knew not to mess with. She'd sat straight, and pulled back her hair, and I had wondered if all Imperials were like that.

Father would dance with Hroar and would teach him the steps I doubted Onmund even knew himself. The bard, whose name I could not remember had laughed along with them, never missing a beat.

The man Lydia would sit with was one who had not lived in the Manor. He had been tall, and from the broadness of his shoulders and the way his forearms curved, I had known he was strong. His eyes had been golden and far apart. I'd only heard the roar of a lion when I looked upon his face, and Lydia must have too.

At the head of the hall, the stable boy had sat at the fireplace, sharing a cool mug of ale with the maid Lliana, who'd smiled at him warmly, her lashes batting and her giggle flirtatious.

I'd only stayed for a few bites of food and maybe a song and a dance before I headed past the main hall, and down to the cellar. The darkness of the cellar had followed me, matching each of my clumsy steps with an echo. A shrine of the eight divines had been built. I had found it on the third night, but I had not said a word. Surely my mother or my father would not have wanted me to go explore in the darkness down below. Only I could not resist, not even with the blood pumping in my ears and the guilt weighing down on me for being disobedient. When I had seen it first, long and tall and cryptic, I had not known what it was. The display had stretched in front of me, my nose barely reaching the surface. I had had to stand back to see the display in its entirety.

On each shrine my eyes lingered: a stone dragon swallowing a helpless sword, an unseeing sun, an owl watching with unforgiving eyes.

I wondered now, as we trudged through snow and the manor rose before me, if it was still there, untouched by the plans of Elaira and her stewardess. I didn't look, however, because even if guilt couldn't stop me, the echoes could.

* * *

"The last time I saw you, you were hardly out of your babehood," she said, with almost a smile. If she were not still the same prideful Imperial, with only a few more wrinkles than I remembered her, I would have expected an embrace or a sloppy kiss on the head. Adelaissa only stood before me, her hands clasped in front of her regal garment.

"I remember you," I told her, smiling hopefully. It was out of place, however, and the words left my throat dry.

"I am pleased," the stewardess responded. She looked over to Vittoria and her wet nurse, and I shifted, not ready for the lady's judgement. "This must be Vittoria."

"Yes," I said. She smiled, her hands still clasped in front of her, unwilling to reach for the child. "I remember the name. It's Imperial, is it not? I knew a girl once who shares your daughter's name."

* * *

"How do you enjoy having a mother?" I asked Lucia. It was a warm day, the beginnings of spring peeking through the cracks of winter, and I had decided to go with Lucia and Lydia into town. The latter had gone off to visit an old friend, suggesting I take Lucia to the Hall of the Dead. Unsurprisingly, Lucia had been enthusiastic.

"I love it, Loralei. Sometimes I used to think you and Miss Runa were like my mommies though."

"I didn't know that, Lucia. I'm glad you have Lydia though. She is good… in all ways sometimes," I responded. My heart thumped and contracted. I looked away from Lucia's wide eyes, trying to forget my jealousy, or resent or whatever it was I did not mean to feel.

"I'm sorry I stole her from you… but you don't need a mommy like I do. A mother doesn't need a mother, right?" She watched me, waiting for affirmation and pardon, but I was not the kind of person to appease a child.

"Everyone needs a mother." I turned to her, wondering what she saw in my eyes. " _Especially_  me."

* * *

In the fading winter, most of my days were spent in the manor, reading, or helping the house's caretakers. On the warmer days, Lila and I would bring Vittoria out to the wagon, and we would explore the region. I liked how it smelled so south in Skyrim; like pine trees, and sap, and dirt. The air was either too fresh or too humid, but over the weeks I grew to enjoy the bite of the cold, and the embrace of wet warmth.

But the winter rolled away quickly and discreetly, leaving comfortable warmth and familiar rainfall. By the spring, Vittoria sat up all by herself, a pleased little girl that should have made her father proud. She waved goodbye, and kissed hello. She played with a dolly and a shoe, all the while giggling wickedly.

It surprised me how fast my daughter grew, how much she could do, how she learned. She was strong and plump, healthy and smiley. Her hair grew thick and curly, a healthy light brown that curled at the ends. Each day I looked at her, and she became more of a person than a symbol or a sign or a mistake. Her laughter filled me with warmth the same way as honeyed mead. I wondered more than once if these were the beginnings of love.

Maybe, but she did not feel like mine, not the way I thought she might. Runa was mine, Lydia, my father… but not her. In the sense that she belonged to no one else, Vittoria belonged to me, so I tried as hard as I could to see myself in her. I spent time with her, as much as I could. I read her stories, and she fell peacefully asleep against my chest. She was warm against me, heavy in a pleasant way. Her breaths were long and thick as she slept, quiet and soft when she woke.

She would cry sometimes too and stretch her arms out for my embrace. When I took her, she would wrap her tiny body against my breadth and her tears and her wails and the voice of her mother would soothe her breaths until they were long and steady once more.

* * *

There is darkness everywhere. It is found in the obvious places, like the bottom of a well, the blue of the night sky. It is also found in the places people tend to overlook, the places where most are too oblivious or too naïve to see. I saw it though; I saw it in a man's steady, reassured breath, in the curve of a woman's lip, the kind that made good men thieves and old men regretful.

I saw it even more when I looked into the foreboding face of the man standing in front of me, one spring night. He glowed unnaturally, and his eyes were orange and green and red, hungry,  _thirsty_.

I had read of vampires, dreamed of them; of their evil sensuality, their leering glare. Something predatory and desperate clung onto and spilled off of the vampire in front of me, something grotesque rather than attractive, a nightmare rather than a dream.

He looked at me now, so wrong and so horrible, that only the shock kept me planted in my spot. I was ready for him to leap, to grab me and drain me of my essence. But he didn't, and moments passed before I looked away, up into the sky, where the sun was drained of light.  _Not nighttime_.

"Not nighttime," the vampire repeated. His skin stretched across his bones, shrivelling, and then thickening. He leaned back to sky, and wings sprouted from his back. His face shrivelled grotesquely and he rose. "Vampire night." He laughed, an evil cackle as he rose to the sky, which was growing redder, dark, darker still. He rose and rose and rose, and I woke with a shriek.

My sheets were wet from perspiration, and my hair clung to my back. I looked out to my window, where the sky was black, but the moons shone brightly, dancing with the stars while the sun shied away.

* * *

_20_ _th_ _of Rain's Hand, 4E 213_

_Loralei,_

_How are you? I don't believe we have ever gone so long without speaking to each other. If I am honest, I had forgotten the date until Meeraj reminded me this morning. Rain's Hand always reminded me of you (for obvious reasons). Rain and springtime and grey remind me of you._

_I know I'm supposed to apologize, that I'm supposed to plead mercy, and beg you to forgive me. But I won't. And don't think it is because I am too proud, stubborn, and ridiculous, because though they may be true, the reason I won't apologize is because I am not sorry. I will not lie to you, not like that anyway. You can choose to ignore this letter and any that may come, and I don't expect to hear back from you, but I am writing anyway._

_I am aware that friendships aren't built on ignoring issues or whatever it is I am doing by refusing to apologize, but we are more than friends. We are soul mates in just our own little way. I don't care if you don't agree, I am sure of it. You might have stopped loving me a very long time ago, and I may have forgotten who I am but, our souls are unchanging in their essence. The chains we have forged with the memories we have made together are unbreakable, and though we have been struggling to break free from each other, we cannot. It might be years before I see you again, if we ever meet again at all. Sometimes I feel as though it has been years already since we've seen each other for true._

_I've tried searching for it—our "last goodbye". I thought maybe it was back in Whiterun, when you would brush my hair. But that cannot be. I was lost then, and you did not try and find me. Perhaps it was the night you told me you were leaving, back in that grey city, when we were both just motherless children, wandering around, never truly lost, but never truly home. But maybe we never knew one another at all. You hardly talked, and I lied more than I breathed._

_Maybe it was just our souls wanted us to collide on this earth, to be matched in companionship forever, but instead, we failed them. Perhaps I was—_ am _too stubborn to apologize and you don't care about a thing in this world, not even out of spiritedness, but out of nonchalance. But how would I know? All I know is that we are soulmates, though I do not even know what that means._

_Anyway, I am tired now, and my hand is cramping. I will write to you again, because I remember more than you think. I won't forget you, is what I mean to say._

_And I hope know you will not forget me._

_Happy birthday, and give my blessings to your daughter._

_Yours,  
Runa_

* * *

"Mother!" I shouted, gathering my skirts to run to her. She was dishevelled, her hair mussed and her clothes cut up. There were long scrapes where her dress was torn, and blood was splattered messily across her skin and garment. In the summer sun, she looked pale, chalky, as if it did not touch her.

"Damn me," she cursed, sucking in her breath, as I inspected one of the more serious gashes on her left arm. "All I had on me was my god forsaken dagger." She pursed her lips, as I helped her walk up to the manor. Servants came rushing out, as we walked up the dirt pathway.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" I asked, pushing through the doors.

"Nothing worse than that cut you were playing with," she said, trying to fix her sour tones with an air of dispassion.

"Well, tell us, what happened?" someone said curiously. Then, strangely, mother started laughing. No one laughed with her, of course, left out of the apparent joke.

"Elaira, what went on? And where was Lydia? Is she not supposed to protect you?" Adelaissa demanded.

"Oh calm down, we all know I can handle myself! Lydia's probably with that blond haired man again." Gently, my mother lay back in her chair, and I began the remedy. "It was another vampire attack. I was out doing errands, and when I walked out from the goods store, basket in my hands, there they were, ransacking the place! Honestly, it was disastrous _—_ I don't know how none of you even heard the screaming. I dropped the basket, paper rolls and apples rolling around my feet, and reach for the dagger _—_ the good one with the glass pommel. I threw it at one of the vampires' heads, then ran to the forge, where I grabbed the first sword I found.

"I helped the guards fight them off. Some are fine now, but most of them needed healing from all that pagan magic the vampires were using and at least three are still rotting in a pile; ash and corpse! Thankfully, the only citizen injured was some crabby lady that needed a good slap in the face anyway. She'll probably be infected, but I've made sure she's being treated and cured before her Change can be completed. Anyway, after the fight, some other citizens who were fighting came up to me, and told me the Dawnguard was recruiting… the  _Dawnguard!_  It's been centuries since that whole group has done anything.

"The men told me they were heading east for Fort Dawnguard in a fortnight, and I, as well as any other I could find, should join him." She finished. I removed my hands from her, and took a seat on the arm of the chair on which a new kitchen scullion sat.

"So you're joining a cult," Adelaissa said with indignation. "Do you think it is  _wise_?"

"It's not a  _cult_! They are hunting a cult! Are you not so anxious to solve the mysteries of the increasing vampire attacks, and the rumours? There must be something larger going on; something we won't know about unless we make it our business to find out!"

My heart thumped, and I bit the inside of my lip. Around me began the rustling of conversation _—_ the servants urging to know more, and Adelaissa expressing her disapproval. A whirl of voices spun around the room, dancing off each other, yelling over each other, until, soft in the distance, a small cry was heard. I stood up abruptly and when the silence cut like a knife, I nodded and excused myself, making my way to the nursery.

* * *

Elaira found me later on the balcony, sipping silently on wine while Lila rocked Vittoria on the bench across from me. The sun was setting on the horizon, and I could see smoke in the distance. I imagined I could smell the burning of corpses even from where I sat.

With a look from mother, Lila excused herself, and placed Vittoria gently in the cradle next to me. Neither mother nor I spared the child a second glance. Once Lila had returned inside, mother opened her mouth to speak. I interrupted, "Are all vampires bad?"

She looked startled by the question, and her mouth gaped slightly before she closed it again, pensive now. I looked down below, where the stable boy stole a horse's apple, and a servants' daughter stole him glances while her sister gossiped with their friend from town.

"I don't know," Mother confessed, pouring herself some wine. "But how can anyone tell?"

"I've read books… all sorts of books about vampires. Some were informative, and told me of their powers, the conditions of their illness. I read of legends where vampires do not die, but get stuck in oblivion, where they sleep until the doors are open once again. There are tales too _—_ of love and sensuality, where vampires love and take and destroy. There are others where it is the humans, Mother _—us_  who cannot understand."

"Do you think it is like that? That it is us who is evil at heart?" Mother asked.

"I do not know, Mother. But I think possibly we are the same _—_ vampires feed off of humans, only we do too. Someone said to me that we are all links part of one great chain. When we are born we are alone, one link without a partner, until we grow and grow and other links catch onto ours and we are all trapped together, forced to never be truly free all so we do not have to be alone." I sighed, looking now at the lake, her soft, teasing kisses as she stroked the shore. "Except, that cannot be true," I realised, shaking my head.

"Why not?" Mother asked, looking at me intently.

" _I_  have no links. I could step into that lake, and let the tides take me away, and no chain could keep me anywhere," I said.

"Perhaps," she began. She closed her eyes, only a moment too long to just be a blink. "But I used to think the same thing of myself." I met her gaze, and I felt a throng of pinches run along my body. My nerves felt tight, but loose and as a summer wind blew, I felt as though there was nothing at all. No end, no beginning, and no present. I thought perhaps all life was was a series of ifs and moments that would never matter, moments like this, which would change nothing.

* * *

A fortnight passed, and I watched from my window as Mother rode past the furrow of pines, clad in armor and strength. I watched her go, and wondered once more if my black knight would ever look back.

* * *

"He's a good man," Lydia promised, holding my hands. She smiled at me hopefully, as if she had been waiting for my reaction all along. I stretched a smile across my face and fell into her embrace.

"I'm so happy for you," I reassured her. I felt Vittoria tug at my skirts before I let go. She smiled at me, pulling herself up from her grip on my garb. "Have you told Elaira?"

"I have written your thane mother, and she rides at dawn. She has bought us a cottage up the road where we might live. Lucia is so excited _—_ she absolutely adores Erik…" Afraid she would notice as my smile stretched thin, I turned and picked up Vittoria, kissing her cheek as she sat on my hip.

* * *

The wedding took place only days before Mother's forty-third birthday. It rained, and the manor filled with music, mead, and wet clothes as the night wasted away in celebration. Mother went back to the Dawnguard the day after her name day.

* * *

Rainy days came and went, and alone with my house of servants and a curly haired daughter, I wasted away, waiting for who-knows-what.

Once when the leaves were changing colour, I wandered down to the edge of the shore. I stood there, wind blowing a little too sharply for the autumn, and when the water met my toes, a hard chill was sent up through my body, the small hairs on my arms and shoulders standing up in defensive shock. I wanted so badly to step in, and then keep walking until I was nothing more than debris clinging onto the bottom of the lake floor, too lost in wonder to try and swim up.

When the snow began to fall, and the pines trees around the manor were covered in white, I thought about walking, just walking and never stopping. I took one step, three, ten, and I made it to town, but I was cold, and wet, and stopped when Valga Vinicia took me into her inn and wrapped me in an old blanket. I kept my manners but said nothing else as she fed me and gave me a place to stay the night. By the fire, she told me jokes, and shared gossip, and though I didn't care for it, it felt nice to be wrapped up in someone's care, and hear them talk up an ear because they just wanted to.

When finally the Old and New Life rolled around, and I received three letters.

The first was from Runa.

_25_ _th_ _of Evening Star, 4E 213_

_Loralei,_

_We have been in High Rock for a fortnight, and have been gradually heading east._

_Did you know in Aldmeris, High Rock is called_ Dawn of Beauty _? It is quite beautiful, so the name suits it well. At first it reminded me of home, of Skyrim and its plainness, but now, as weeks have passed I can see its unique beauty; the insecure tremble in the wind, and crookedness and roundness of all its structures. It reminds me of one giant, interloping grove of magic and pixies, of a whimsical forest where old witches prosper and grow old into hagravens, stealing the beautiful and feeding off young._

_It is strange but beautiful._

_Anyhow, we took a detour to Wayward, which I'm sure you know is in the Iliac Bay of High Rock. They celebrate Old and New early, and welcome visitors with open arms. They give gifts and throw massive parties, three times larger than Solitude's, and people from all over come to join the parading. I have quite high hopes, and in honour of their tradition, I've sent you and your daughter small gifts._

_Tell her of me will you? I want to be Auntie Runa, even if it is just in stories._

_Anyhow, we should be in Solitude to pass through to Morrowind during the real Old and New. I hopedperhaps we may meet, though I will not look for you—I am not so naïve as to think you have forgiven or forgotten._

_Good tidings,  
Runa_

The second was from my own mother.

_28_ _th_ _of Evening Star, 4E 213_

_Daughter,_

_I am completely exhausted, and utterly lost of hope. Obviously, the Dawnguard must think me some sort of pawn or mercenary! At first they gave me quite interesting, dangerous jobs, but now I've spent the last two months searching for an old Moth Priest who no one seems to even know about. All I even know as of this moment, as I make camp somewhere just north of Markarth, is that he is still in Skyrim, though who knows a few weeks from now._

_My first assignment from the leader of the Dawnguard, was to investigate Dimhollow Crypt; a large cave on top of a mountain just a while southwest of Dawnstar. When I entered, my heart throbbed in my ears, like it always does and I swear it stopped beating when I heard the voices. They spoke of nothing in particular, only conversing with each other. It made me think of you for a moment—of what you had said to me about vampires and humans being the same. But I admit I never hesitated to kill a human either, not when they are the enemy at least._

_The Death Hound which accompanied them was enormous, and grotesque, massively deformed. I was afraid when I first saw it, but I soon learned it was all for show. It seems ugly dies just as easily. Unfortunately, when the vampires and their bitch were dead, I noticed another body, lying bloody and unmoved. It was Vigilant Tolan, I know now. At first I could not place a name to the face which I recognized. I had seen him only once, when I had first arrived at Fort Dawnguard, while he'd been arguing with Isran about the vampire attacks. Poor man. I brought him to Dawnstar to be buried as Stendarr's followers. I can appreciate his taking of action, however foolish._

_Anyway, once I was done looking at poor Tolan, I noticed a locked gate, so I made my way to the opposite wall, where there was an entrance to another room. I took some good loot, and pulled the chain. I know you wouldn't be learned on the subject, but those mechanics make quite the amount of noise. (So much for vampires and their super senses and whatnot) Honestly, right there in the next room passed the gate was another vampire with his skeleton familiars. I doubt you will ever need the advice, but always go for the conjurors, for the beings will die with him. I killed seven with one arrow._

_I could have sneaked past them, but it would only be messier in the end. Better die by being shot by and arrow that came out of nowhere than die from a disease you think gives you power (is what I would always say, if the opportunity came more often)._

_Anyway, the rest of the cave moved along quite the same: vampire slaughter, and looting, not to mention getting lost more than I would like to admit. I ran into some draugr as well, the bastards. I was scared of them when I was young, but now they drop like flies. I worry about the Death Lords and Dragon Priests now, more than anything. Disarming makes me nervous—I've never been quite great with brawling with dead things._

_Note: vampires are getting stronger and stronger at this point, and their magic is red and awful. It feels as though the very veins in the body are thinning, stretching, disappearing. I wouldn't wish a pain like that on my greatest enemy._

_I also found some dead frostbite spiders, with a couple vampires and their death dogs to warm their corpses. The vampires may grow harder to defeat, but their bitches are still nothing. Did I tell you? The Dawnguard have huskies; strong, and powerful like wolves, stealthy and smart. They have trolls too—and other things, like crossbows. At first it been hard to grow accustomed to, but they are powerful, and as I came to realise, very useful against a hoard of vampires._

_Soon enough, I made it to Dimhallow Cavern, where I could not see the ceiling, and gargoyles lined the walls. Never trust a gargoyle… since when did Skyrim have gargoyles anyway? Pardon me, dear, back to topic—inside this dark, and old, strange cavern, I overheard a vampire interrogating his captive. I peered over to see the vampire called Lokil, a disgusting once-Nord, with a long, gaunt face. His eyes were empty, white where there should have been colour, and his skin was grey-green; wrong. His captive was another Vigilant of Stendarr. Adalvald, I had remembered. They had been searching for him. I should have acted—killed the vampire without thought, but I didn't. Adalvald died a strong Nord, following his God in death, revealing nothing to the vampire's thrall. I remember his last words…_ _**peace at last** _ _._

_It wasn't long after he died that the vampire saw me. It was a nice battle between us before he died, and I made my way to the circular stone structure, which dominated the massive room. In the center stood a tall podium, a button just screaming for my hand's pressure. I gave in, and it punctured me. I whelped, and stilled, afraid I had been heard. I prayed to all the gods no one did. I could not fight yet, and my hand was still impaled in a spike._

_It descended soon though and I had to bite my lip as it pulled back out of my hand. I closed my eyes for only a moment, and when they opened, purple light rose up all around me, coming from troughs in the floor. It took not very long before I figured out the puzzle. I pushed one of the surrounding stone braziers into the light, the next ones all being revealed one after another. Once the light was all connected, the ground began to shake, and the moaning of stone moving against stone was screaming in my ears, squeezing my rapidly-beating heart._

_The center of the circle then descended, and I had no time to think about my still-stinging hand as I reached for my weapons, terrified of what was happening. I thought perhaps it was an alarm of some sort, or a calling, but nothing happened and the walls began to still. I approached and a monolith beneath the stone pedestal was revealed. Carefully, I descended, and was horrified; confused as I saw a beautiful, young and strange-looking girl holding an Elder Scroll._

_She opened her eyes—magnificent, golden. Her pallor, the darkness of her hair, the glow she emitted in the darkness of the crypt._ _**Vampire.** _

_"_ _Unh... where is... who sent you here?" she asked, blinking absurdly. I was hesitant to say his name, but sometimes I am reckless._

_"_ _A man named Isran."_

_"_ _I… don't know who that is. Is he… like me?"_

_"_ _Vampire?"_

_"_ _Vampire, yes," she confirmed. Obviously, I was not going to tell her I worked for a man who killed her kind. I was sure she would find out soon enough._

_"_ _Why were you locked away like this?"_

_I remembered one of the stories I used to read to you, the one about an evil witch who'd stolen a babe and locked her away in a tower. I think of you in the oddest moments, I realise. Perhaps not enough… but never mind that._

_"_ _That's... complicated. And I'm not totally sure if I can trust you. But if you want to know the whole story, help me get back to my family's home."_

_I didn't like this answer… being blackmailed—propositioned. I could have taken her, and tortured her into telling me anyway, yet this girl, weak from who-knows how many years of sleep, wanted to use me!_

_But I suppose I am soft, and curious, and deep down, I am scared of vampires._

_"_ _Where is that?" I asked her._

_"_ _My family used to live on an island to the west of Solitude. I would guess they still do. By the way... my name is Serana. Good to meet you."_

_At least she was polite._

_The escape was a mess. As Serana and I crossed the bridge to where she believed would lead the way out, two gargoyles erupted, shaking off the dust of centuries, and attacking. How could I fight stone and immortality with steel and ebony?_

_Apparently Serana could. She is dangerous as she is beautiful, and I was glad I had not tried to fight her. If this was her in action after being trapped in a coffin, left to rot, I did not want to see her at her best! (Well, maybe I would, but only if she were on my side)._

_We fought our way through, and made camp outside Dawnstar. In the morning, Serana pulled up her hood, shielding her skin from the sun. I never knew they really did that—vampires, that is—especially since cities are still being attacked countless times during the daylight hours._

_The journey took over six hours, before we reached a small little dock, a row boat floating near the shore._

_"_ _So this is it, your home then?"_

_She rolled her eyes and told me to get in the boat. If only she knew who I was, the young foolish wench. Though, I still suspect she is far senior to my forty-three years._

_Soon enough a large silhouette appeared over the horizon and Serana pointed. We reached the island and bone hawks circled overhead. The gargoyles resting on the rail on a bridge to the large castle which stretched into the sky turned to look, and for a moment I wondered if they would join the hawks in flight. It would have been dramatic, momentous, only they did not and their following gaze was only creepy._

_Soon enough, after even further creepiness of a watchman and a vampire called Vingalmo, I stood in a great hall, facing the great, Lord Harkon as his guests feasted on blood and bodies. I tried not to gag. I watched as he spoke to Serana, and it was revealed to me of their relationship: father and daughter. Naturally._

_When Serana turned to me, and introduced me as her savior, the vampire turned to me as well._

_"_ _For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude. Tell me, what is your name?"_

_I refused, and asked him to tell me his name first. As if he really cared for my name. It seems people care less and less about who I am._

_"_ _I am Harkon, lord of this court. By now, my daughter will have told you what we are."_

_What happens next is the catch. He offered to me vampirism. To be a true, pure,_ _**vampire lord** _ _, unlike all the diseased creatures that walk in the night._

_If I am to be true, my daughter, I thought about it. But then, once again I thought of you, and how already I am already a vampire, in the essence of a human. Already I am a human of dragon soul, whose veins pour with fire drunk from the sun. I could not be the creature who is harmed by the substance of which I was born. I could not be like someone who waits for another to save my own daughter._

_I said no and I was banished. What was left to do was head back to Fort Dawnguard._

_There was a vampire attack when I arrived. All I could think was,_ Come on! I'm way too old for this! _Then I laughed and helped the Dawnguard kill them all. It's sick isn't it, how you have never killed in your life, never drawn blood. You heal and protect and make things better, but I kill and say I'll weep only in Sovngarde, though I am well aware Sovngarde does not await me._

_I don't even remember the first time I killed, what my victim's name was, how heavy their body was as they went limp around me. I remember only some last words, never last names, and then they sing of how I conquered all. It's sick._

_Anyhow, after that I was sent to recruit some of Isran's old friends. After Emperor's Day, I had found them all, and had returned with the last one. Isran welcomed them, then dragged me to some room, where there and behold was:_ _**Serana** _ _. There it was, the blood-pumping thrill of adventure, coursing through my veins, red-hot like the colour of my hair. We asked her what was happening, and she explained it to us._

_She explained that her father wants the Elder Scroll she was buried with, that he wants to have control over the sun; he wants vampires to rule the world! Who knew this kind of malice truly still existed. I had always believed men like Lord Harkon were just made-up. But hell, who am I to speak such clichés? I slayed an evil, time-jumping dragon and can breathe fire!_

_This is when the Moth Priest thing happened. They are the only ones who can read the Elder Scrolls, and most are all the way in the Imperial City. 'Luckily', there is one passing through Skyrim still. Only, it's been months and Serana (who decided to tag along) and I cannot find him. We're heading to Solitude, and might stop for a while at Dragon's Bridge. We plan on spending New and Old life there as well. Apparently, a new up-and-coming bard group will be passing through. If I see Runa I'll let you know._

_I've sent some trinkets and niceties for everyone, and if there's something you would like in Solitude, tell me before I depart._

_I wish all the best, and give my regards to Lydia and her family, as well as those in our service._

_Yours Truly,_  
Elaira, part-time vampire huntress, full-time Dovahkiin  
(Sounds quite nice, doesn't it?)

Finally, and most surprisingly, arrived a letter from Dagny, only three days late.

_1_ _st_ _of Morning Star, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_How have you been? It's been a very long time since I have written a letter in my own hand. I believe the last time was when I wrote to you a year ago… or was it two? It seems I have forgotten time._

_I am writing to you because I miss you, and I miss friendship. I hope this time you will write back and we may become somewhat of pen pals._

_I hope not to alarm you. Eight bless you and your family._

_Signed,_

****_Dagny  
_ _wife of Emperor Tobias I  
Empress of the Imperial Empire_

* * *

My girl took her first steps one week exactly before her first birthday. She fell into my arms and I tickled her until she was breathless with laughter.

Mother came home for her granddaughter's birthday, and with her came a husky, alert and beautiful. She called him Bran, and steadied Vittoria as she sat atop his back. The two girls giggled; the freckles across their noses bright, and their curls bouncing around them.

* * *

Often that winter, I found myself making my way to Falkreath, where I would spend time helping others little by little with their chores. Sometimes I would help Mathies and his wife gather wheat, listening as they told stories of their poor, dead, daughter, who had been shredded to pieces. They would bring me in at dusk when it rained and we would eat by a hearth. Once the rain cleared they would send me on my way. Indara would kiss my cheek and Mathies would pat my shoulder, bidding me good luck.

Other times I found myself at Grave Concoctions, a name which made me laugh each time I saw it. Zaria would laugh with me too, and teach me all which I had never bothered to learn. Once, when it was late, and she had closed up, I had stayed behind and she had made us some sweet tea so we could rest and let the rain fall. "I belong here," she had confessed to me, spilling the story of why she had come to Skyrim, how a town known for its death and rain made her feel welcome and needed. I wondered how someone could come from so far away, to a place so cold and unkind, boring and proud, and find her home.

That night I spilled my story too, but not all of it, just the important parts. I told her of the lady with big ears, the blue flowers, and the lonely skeever. I told her about the grey of Riften, the throaty laugh, and the twirling laughter of my first friend. I remembered aloud the funny accents and the pretty daggers, and the tea and the door. I told her about all the colours of Whiterun, and how I fell in love too many times in the city where love affairs and clashing clans were spilling over the tall walls. She cried with me when I told her of all the death of Solitude, and all the goodbyes. She smiled when I said all the Names, the Names which at every moment I repeated in my heart, a prayer so silent not even I could hear.

Zaria and I never spoke about the night, not directly at least. I was grateful that she did not look at me any differently than before, that no pity washed over the back of her dark irises. I was glad that she joked with me all the same, light as if those moments had only been a release of what we had been holding in for far too long.

On slow nights, when Zaria and Mathies and his wife, and all the rest of the town needed a break, all headed down to Dead Man's Drink. I would send for my daughter, and she would be passed around the room throughout the night, growing more and more loved. Her name might be forgotten, the colour of her eyes changing with each memory, but I knew that to these people in Falkreath, her name would ring in the back of their minds forever.

I thought of Evesa one of the nights in early Rain's Hand, and the years that had passed since the last I saw her. I found her an old book, and I wrote her a short little letter. I tied it in a pretty bow and sent it off, hoping maybe it would find her.

* * *

The bard, Delacourt, had a nice voice. It was young and rugged. Someday many years from now, it would be deep and throaty. It was later, only weeks after my birthday when he played the Tale of the Tongues. All those in the inn sang along, our voices loud and off key, nearly drowning out the bard's nice voice. Our tankards were raised high, as homage to my mother was made. Ale spilled over, splashing onto the wood of the floor. At the last note, the inn erupted into drunken cheering, and Delacourt took his bow. Bran jumped off of some Nord's lap and howled to join our cheers. The crowd burst into laughter, and returned to their previous conversations.

I reached to silence the dog, grabbing him gently by the collar, when the door burst open. The crowd silenced, looking towards the newcomer.

I looked too. The door clanged shut behind a tall man, draped in a heavy cloak. One with no hood, however, and his wet curls sagged over his face. The newcomer's eyes passed over the crowd before they landed on me, and I felt a strange pang as I looked back. He had blue eyes, a little too far apart, and even in the distance, I could see the sprinkle of light brown freckles across his nose.

"Loralei," he said, exasperated. He smiled, a crescent of a dimple forming on his face. He moved towards me, and I froze. He seemed to miss the confusion and disbelief building in my expression as he continued towards me. I turned away from him quickly, to Bran, who had padded up to my side. He growled at Lars, and I dropped my hand to the top of his head, hoping to calm him _—_ to calm myself.

I had not seen the boy in over two years, and the encounter bewildered me. It felt wrong to see him in such a place, where it rained and smelled of pine and sap. I remembered the last time I'd seen him; the contempt on his face—how he'd blamed me for all that had gone wrong. He had been so childish, selfish, but I had forgiven him. I had forgiven him, even though he was supposed to marry me, even though we were supposed to be simple and boring. I had forgiven him, even though he had not thought there was a sin to forgive.

I felt my heart sour, the blood in my veins turn to vinegar. I rose, just as Lars reached out to me, and called for Bran to follow. I pushed past him, and shoved my way through the inn door. Sheets of water and salt fell from the sky, but I treaded through the mud, out onto the road, thinking not of the rain. Unfortunately, Lars followed me, and as the door swung behind him, he ran out, grabbing me by the sleeve. "Loralei, wait _—_ "I turned around.

Bran snapped at Lars, but I placed my hand on his head again. Damp hair shielded my eyes, and in the night light, or lack thereof, it looked not rose gold, but black. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, surprisingly calm.

"I came looking for you," he said, trying to smile. I tried not to scowl. I had not realised I had such callous contempt for the boy until now. I felt it in my belly, churning tighter and tighter into a knot. I felt tight all throughout, as though my lungs and my heart were contracting, as if my whole body was falling in on itself over and over until it was a dense piece of iron anger. Tears rose to my eyes, from the pressure more from the emotion, and I could tell on his face he was getting scared. He was such a coward.

My hands were balled into fists, my chipped nails digging into the too-soft-too-weak skin.

"Please don't," I managed. "I wish you hadn't come. It's so much harder not to hate you now," I said. I could not tell if I was crying or not, and I was thankful for the rain. "Can you just go, Lars Battle-Born?" Lars' lips pursed and he frowned.

"But you don't understand!" His hands flew up, and he took a step back, exhaling loudly as rain poured off his nose.

"I don't care to." It seemed with that one sentence, all the tension in my body disappeared, and like that, with the blink of an eye, like a raindrop splattering on the ground, erupting, and dispersing into nothing, I was empty again. I tried not to laugh. There had to be something wrong, so incredibly wrong that I wanted to laugh.

"I just wanted to see you before—."

"That is sick, and you might think it is romantic or touching, but it isn't. It's ridiculous, and irritating. You are disrupting my night, and I don't care to see you ever again. I haven't since I left Whiterun. Perhaps you think that I have spent the last years missing you,  _yearning_  for you, but I haven't. I am not a heartbroken, lonely, little girl, and I don't cry because of unrequited or—or  _broken_  love. I'm sure you believe that all this time, I have leaned over my balcony rail, dreaming of you to come save me, dreaming of you riding up to save me, mounted on a great stallion, offering me a winter rose. But I haven't!" I paused, taking a breath, embarrassed from the outburst. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. "So please, Lars Battle-Born, go back to your family, or wherever it is you are headed for. There isn't a thing in the world that I would rather, than to know you are on the path which you, and your family have chosen." He drew a long breath, and let it out before he responded.

"I  _am_ a Battle-Born, just like you say it. War is in my blood, battle in my veins, and courage in my heart. That is what my father told me. I only wanted to tell you that I'm leaving for war. I didn't want to, not really, but my father convinced me. My ma didn't want me to go either. She said my father wasn't even born a Battle-Born, she told me he didn't know the first thing of courage. 'Courage is knowing when to sacrifice, not when to go into bloody battle for the sake of pride' she told me. But then I remembered my uncle Jon, and he didn't like war either, no matter what clan he belonged to. But he fought because sometimes war brings peace, and the Empire fights to defend a peace which has already been fought for. So I left, and ma cried and pa patted me on the shoulder, and grandpa told me he was proud.

"I went straight to Solitude. Do you remember when we went there together, with Nelkir? I do… I thought—I  _hoped_  I would see you there, I hoped to run into you on the streets, or at the palace, or the temple. When I didn't, I looked for you. I went to Proudspire, the manor you had told me you were born in. I waited at the door, but nobody was there. I went to the temple, but it was also empty. I prayed for a while, to Kynareth especially. Do you still have the amulet? The one I gave you? Right, sorry, of course you don't.

"Anyway, I was alone before someone came in and I asked for you. The bloke told me you had moved here, to Falkreath with your daughter…  _our_  daughter…" He pushed the wet hair from his eyes, and even in the darkness of the town, his blue eyes shone. I was glad Vittoria did not have his eyes. She had  _my_  eyes, the same green I used to loathe, which I would have loathed forever had they not passed onto her. She had my freckles too, the ones that dotted all our face, down our neck, across our shoulders. She had my laugh, though it was far more frequent, and it was a laugh Lars had never heard—had never  _wanted_  to hear. Even the curls on her head belonged to my own mother, and I refused to think otherwise. Vittoria was none of Lars; she was all me, only mine.

Still, my hand reached up, to touch the metal hung around my neck. He was silent as I pulled it out, over my head. My heart beat hard, and goosebumps ran along my arms as I stepped towards him, mud sticking to my boots. The amulet was dry, and warm, the result of being concealed under my dress. I closed in the distance between us, and I didn't stop to wonder what it was that I was doing. He breathed loudly, but unlike Runa. He was not trying to drag in as much breath as possible, afraid someone might take it first. His breathing was steady, strong, as if he knew he deserved the oxygen which filled his lungs.

Lars bent his head; his wet curls tumbling as I placed the amulet around him. I dropped my hands to my sides and met his gaze. He didn't smile, and neither did I, but I slid my hand into his, and I pulled him towards the inn.

I kissed him in the morning, and I watched once more as another rode away, mounted on a great and terrible stallion.


	12. But we shall all be changed

_If I am honest, I hardly remember you—I was so young, and it has been a very long time since you left Riften. I even had to ask my father to remind me who you are. I hope that does not hurt you—that is far from my intention. I wasn't originally going to write back to you, but since I loved that book so much, I figured you must know me well, even if I don't know you._

_Father and Mother are well. They are busy at the temple, praying to Mara for more children which we all know will not come. Though they have had hopes that their only child would have more of an interest in their religious practices, I have been far more absorbed in the studies of magic and alchemy—the_ _**science** _ _of it all. I am learning more and more about magicka, and what it is. It is more complicated than stamina and health, though all three share similarities; all are depleated with use, and all regenerate with time. There are many theories about magicka in humans, how it originated and how it works. Mother and Father believe that the gods have given man all, including his abilities. However, it is not cynical to believe that an explanation as such is too simple. However true the divines may be, and whether or not it is them who have given us the ability of magic, the world remains an article of science. All must be questioned, and no answer, especially one so vague should be accepted. To think so many people refuse to explore their curiosities and pose questions seems strange to me. Still, so many—High Priest Maramal included—believe that authority, especially the divines should never be questioned. Except, if they are the all-creators, then they would not have given us curiosity, and they would not have built us with the ability to question, to learn, and to build as they have, if we were not meant to use them._

_Anyhow, the other theories about the source of magicka involve far more complex formulas, or they are ridiculous stories and tales of lore and fiction which even my father would put aside._

_If you don't mind, I am also curious in things other than magicka flow… though it's magic in another way, I am curious about your mother's Dovah Sos ("dragon soul"). I have questions, and I thought I might as well ask you: who better than someone who knows the Dovahkiin (if not the Dragonborn herself)? I have done very little research on the topic, but like everyone else in Skyrim, I know of the legends, prophecies and songs and histories. Still, even if I did look, there is little to no concrete knowledge or history texts concerning any science of the dragonborn._

_What I do know is the general essence of the dovahkiin—a human born with the soul of the dragon, which enables them to absorb the soul of a slain dragon, ending forever its life, while it would have otherwise been able to be resurrected. This power also enables the dragonborn to 'shout' without training—all this is general knowledge. These are my questions: if the dragonborn (your mother) is slain, could_ she _be resurrected? If she is slain by another dovahkiin, or if the other dovahkiin is present during her death, could that one absorb her soul? Finally, is the dovah sos hereditary?_

_Of course, those first two questions are morbid, and likely without answers. I also don't expect you to know the last, but I thought I might as well ask._

_I hope you and your daughter are well, and I wish good luck to your mother in her endeavors. Please write to me; I would love to learn more about Falkreath as well as your family. Perhaps one day we might meet, and we will know each other as I am told we have before._

_Sincerely,  
Evesa, _ **Riften Hold**

* * *

 

_20_ _th_ _of Second Seed, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_I am so glad you wrote back! When I received your letter, I was so surprised and delighted that I nearly ripped the envelope apart in my haste to read your words. I'm certain my comrades thought me mad!_

_Vittoria sounds so lovely, and smart. Your home in Falkreath sounds beautiful. I can just imagine you sitting on that balcony you speak of, overlooking the twinkling lake water, sipping on expensive wine from your mother's travels. It must be extraordinary! You complain of rain, but that seems only funny to me. It seems to follow you where you go…_

_Your mother once told me about the day you and your brother were born. It was raining; she put a lot of emphasis on that. It was raining, and everything stopped—the whole city and the whole world had stopped. She told me that your brother was born first and his wails were so much like a lion's roar, that she named him Hroar because of it. She said that when you were born, you were so silent and so still that she wasn't sure you were alive. But you blinked, and your eyes, they were green, like hers, only they were not the same at all. "Not green like envy nor like grass or trees—it was green like the colour of wildfire and emerald, burning, expensive and pure." She named you Loralei because of an old fairy-tale her Aldmeri mother had read to her. I don't remember it now—perhaps you should ask her._

_Is it weird that I know so much about your birth while I know nothing of mine? I know you might as well have been motherless, but as much as we pretended, I don't think you and I are much of the same. When we were in Solitude, I was so convinced that Elaira and I were alike. She was an orphan, and she was misunderstood, disloyal, successful, and rich. She was beautiful, like me. I wanted to be like her, because I thought it was the same thing as wanting to be myself. Perhaps I am too changed and too broken to have a definition of myself, but travelling these provinces has changed me in a way. I meet so many people, and live so many lives, and learn so much, that change is inevitable. I am still selfish, and still unwilling to better myself even though I know my own flaws. Only, I do not crave the world any longer. I do not want all which was too far out of reach. I want nothing now, a nothing that is unlike the one I felt in Whiterun. This nothing is easy, and sterile, and I think perhaps it is the nothing you have always craved._

_I'll be in the Imperial City by the time you write back._

_Signed,  
Runa_

_P.S. I hope you feel better soon. Some Blue Mountain Flowers may not ease the pain, but should be beneficial in the long run._

* * *

 

_4_ _th_ _of Mid Year, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_Children are quite the hassle! You are very fortunate you were blessed with a daughter. My son, Lorgren, was born last year, the 20_ _th_ _of Rain's Hand. I was sure you had heard, but how could you have, living so far away from the big cities now? I chose the name Lorgren because my husband insisted on an Imperial name, even though we all know our Nord blood is dominant. The name reminds me of home, and it makes me swell with happiness, the way I swelled with him, my Lorgren. He has dark hair, and even darker eyes, but his skin is as pale as Nelkir's was, and I can tell by the shape of his chin he will be a tall, Nord man; strong and courageous in all his endeavors._

_Anyway, the reason which I am sure your life is much easier with a lovely daughter is my little prince's obsession with destruction. A few nights ago, I went into town for some new dresses, and I stumbled upon this beautiful twin set of Aldmeri hand-crafted horses, made of the finest, rarest wood and jewels a dear mother could wish for. Naturally, I bought them, and I thought it would be the only appropriate toy for my rascal of a one-year old! But after only minutes of playing with one of them, the masterpiece was destroyed; the little rubies fell out instantly. The servants stole him away, and had the audacity to tell me that he could choke on the little gems. If they had done a better job at tutoring him, then perhaps the toy would not have been broken in the first place!_

_I trust that you do a far better job of rearing your girl, so I've sent with this letter the horse's twin. It pains me to send it off without the other, but I know that if Lorgren does not appreciate it now, he will not later. Still, I'm sure one day I'll come across something he might learn to love and cherish. But let me assure you, despite this little fault, Lorgren is amazing and I'm surprised at what can be created between two people. He is so energetic, always running about, frowning, and smiling, and getting into trouble. He reminds me of Mila and Lars. Those two always were like brother and sister._

_I am sorry to hear that Lars has left for war. If I do say so, you shouldn't have stayed at that inn with him—forgiven him, whatever you want to call it. He might be off to war, but it is his decision. I know I should support the soldiers going to fight for the Empire, but I don't support using it as an excuse to climb back into your bed!_

_You're probably still under the weather from all that rain, too. What were you thinking, going out and parading in the rain? You have a child! What if she were to fall ill?_

_Just in case, I've sent you some medicine… It's completely natural, and was smuggled from Valenwood. They have the rarest plants and substances there—if only those goddamned stubborn Bosmer would see the uses of the plants rather than waste it all. Everything and everyone was put on this Earth for a reason, and not to use our resources it to dishonor them._

_Also, I have forgotten to mention—Tobias and I are trying for a second child. I know it is my duty, and of course I love my Emperor—my husband—but I'm not sure I'm quite ready. Sometimes I feel as though Lorgren is all I need. He is my son… It still is a peculiar feeling to be a mother. I was never meant to be a mother, I'm sure of it. But somehow I am, and it was Lorgren who made me so. I don't think I could love my second child the same way I love him. Perhaps it's only because I don't quite believe in second loves._

_That's why Tobias and I will be forever!_

_Please use the medicine I have given you, I promise it will aid you. Save some too, just in case. I cannot fathom the idea of little Vittoria being ill for even but a second. You know, I still have hopes she and Lorgren might marry. I know you say it will be disgraceful, or that we cannot force a marriage, but I say nay. I'm the empress—I can do what I wish! I love your Vittoria already, and I know when you meet him, you'll love my Lorgren as well._

_Signed,_

_Dagny_  
wife of Emperor Tobias I  
Empress of the Imperial Empire

_P.S. Runa and her travelling bards group are supposed to arrive to the city in a week or so, just thought you might like to know!_

* * *

 

_12_ _th_ _of Mid Year, 4E 214_

_Lorie,_

_You'll never believe it! (Well you might) We were passing through the Imperial City, like I mentioned a few letters ago and we were asked to play at the palace! Our band has become renowned all throughout Tamriel, but still, this_ honour _is baffling, but that's not the most surprising part!_

_I was so excited to see Dagny—I hadn't even spoken to her since Whiterun, Gods know how many years ago. But she recognized me, and invited us to stay at the palace._

_I met Lorgren; he's about one and a bit now. He's adorable! He looks exactly like Dagny, and I can tell even now that her boy's going to be one serious heart-breaker. He is always messing things up, and getting into things he's not supposed to. When he talks (he knows quite a few words now), he says almost exclusively "No!" or "More!" or "Mommy!" He's so manipulative in that way only beautiful people and children can be. Dagny loves it though, and she knows it too, but she takes pleasure in teasing him and asserting her superiority. Even with her son! I'm sure many people assume Dagny would spoil him, but no. Dagny doesn't_ do _charity._

_She and I have taken to shopping a lot, and buying and gushing over all the finer things. Palace life is fabulous, but it gets tiring, and often I still wonder why I wanted it so badly. Travelling has made me restless, and I become so stir crazy with each moment that passes—which reminds me to tell you the "you'll never believe it" part!_

_Since the Emperor and his household loved our music so much, he has requested that I, as well as some others stay for the remainder of the year to be his personal band!_

_The pay is unbelievable, and an entire wing has been given to us. Dagny, though she was composed as always, is happy that I am staying. We were never_ so _close, but I think that she misses Skyrim, and Whiterun, and you and Mila and even Lars, and I remind her of that time. She speaks about her brother a lot, and she has even mentioned Nelkir and her father. It's strange to think we might have been sister-in-laws…_

 _Dagny surprises me a lot, not in the sense that she does surprise things_ for _me, but she acts in certain ways and does certain things which are so unexpected. She spends a lot of time with her son, even though I assumed her servants did the raising. Of course, they help her, but she doesn't give herself enough credit. She jokes with her husband a lot too. I had thought she would have had to be composed and silent with her husband the Emperor, but no. They dance and laugh in the kitchens, and when they steal time with their son, they are a true family, hidden beneath a curtain of riches and royalty._

_She loves him, and him her, but I still do not think it is as it should be. There are no stolen glances, or knowing smiles. There is laughter and comradery, but I am afraid that is all there is. I'm worried his eyes may start to wander, no matter how beautiful Dagny is. I cannot imagine how she would feel if another woman bore Tobias a bastard. Not heartbroken, but ashamed, angry, betrayed._

_Dagny speaks of the war a lot too, though only when we are alone on the balconies, curtains swaying in the wind while we drink our tea (dramatic, I know, but when you ever visit the city, the fabric flowing in the wind high above the city is all you will ever notice). She hates it all. She says that too many have gone off fighting, too many have died._

_Mila is alive, you know. At least she was a few months ago. She sent me a letter, which is strange since we barely knew each other. I told Dagny, but she only shook her head and called for her son._

_I know, I have been rambling on about her. It's only I have not a lot to say for myself. The city is beautiful, and tall; splendid in ways our Skyrim will never know. Imperials are all beautiful, in their own foreign way. They belong in this city. It is white and gold, in my brain, and I know it would be the same in yours. White and gold—perhaps like Whiterun's white and yellow (only more ironic)._

_I've been here so little time, but I feel as if I have been here for a million years. My hair is long now, and my skin is dark. I feel strong and light and nothing. No one else could understand that but you, Lorie. And if you don't, then I fear I'm all alone, I fear that I always have been._

_It is a bad habit of ending letters this way now, but I can't help it._

_I think I'm going stir crazy. You are too, by the way. I know it because I have an All-Knowing sixth sense. Go to the Hall of the Dead. You need your divines and prayers like I need my lute and one hundred percent Imperial cotton._

_Love,  
Runa_

_P.S. Someone told me that if you climb all the way to the top of a mountain, in the south of Skyrim, you can see the White-Gold tower. We are closer than you think, Lorie._

_P.P.S. While you're at the temple, get checked out. You shouldn't be sick for this long._

* * *

 

_15_ _th_ _of Mid Year, 4E 214_

_This is insanity. Your mother will be furious! Have you told the father? Who_ is _the father? When did this happen, and why didn't you tell me! By the gods, are you alright? I never even suspected…_

_I just got your letter, and I am still in shock. I feel like laughing and crying and I have no idea what to say right now. I apologize if I am being insensitive, but what else is there to say?_

_-Runa_

* * *

 

_16_ _th_ _of Mid Year, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_Runa finally told me the news. You're with child again! This is excellent news, I promise you. Though I may not approve of Lars, you have obviously proven yourself a wonderful mother, and this child was meant for you._

_I know it isn't my business, especially since you told Runa, and not me, but I have a knack for caring nowadays. I think you should tell Lars. I know he has not proved to be the most loyal and honourable man in the past, but maybe war has changed him. Maybe he will come back and marry you; raise your family together._

_That is what you want, isn't it? For him to come back? I don't know much about lost love, but I'm sure_ I _would do anything to reunite with the love of my life (if I was in a situation where we were separated). I don't say this to hurt or insult you, but I can only assume it is what you would want for yourself and your children. Whatever you choose to do, I know it will be the right one. I can only tell you what I believe, and if it is not right, then I'm sorry._

_I still don't think what you did with him was wise, but it has given you this gift, a gift to both of you. Parents are meant to stay together, I think._

_Anyhow, Vittoria will do well with a younger brother or sister. It would get lonely for her eventually. I loved my siblings, both of them. You would not want her to grow up alone, like you or Runa. This is a good thing, and I know it. I know it in my breast, and as a mother now, I know it in my womb._

_Tobias is ever so jealous of you, you know. We have been trying now for months, to no return. I think it would do well if you came to visit us, with your daughter. He would not mind—he's a good man, and would accept you into our home warmly. Perhaps if Lars rejects you, you might even find a nice suitor here._

_I've enclosed some more medicine and herbs for your gestation._

_Signed,_

_Dagny_  
wife of Emperor Tobias I  
Empress of the Imperial Empire

* * *

 

_28_ _th_ _of Mid-Year, 4E 214_

_Daughter,_

_I hope you are well. I've tried speaking to Isran about taking an absence, but since our mission against the vampires is becoming more and more critical, I cannot commit to coming back to Falkreath at this moment. If ever I am heading in that direction, I will come to visit. But I know you are an adult now, and I trust you know how to bring a child to term. Perhaps not quite grown up when it comes to decision making, but at least you won't get yourself killed—Gods know I've aided in your "independence"._

_If you're still interested, we found the Moth Priest a month or so ago. All clues led us to Dragonbridge, where a man told us that a man in a robe had recently passed over the bridge. We hurried along, heading southeast towards the old bridge, but instead of finding the Moth Priest and his travelling party, we saw signs of an attack: overturned carts, dead horses, and the corpses of vampires. We searched the bodies, and on one of the vampires, we found a note which informed us of where they had taken the Moth Priest (Bloody stupid to leave a note which gives strangers your location. Skyrim absolutely needs more guards). We followed the blood splatters northeast until we reached four standing stones and an entrance to Forebear's Holdout._

_We headed down a slope and around the corner. It's strange how well vampires can sneak. They have no breath, no heartbeat; no sign of anything to indicate they even exist. The only thing that reminded me of Serana's presence was her footsteps, which even I strained to hear._

_Before long we reached a balcony in a huge chamber with a river. It resembled an old interior fort, but there was a single patrolling vampire. On the other side, a bluish orb glowed. It made me dizzy and unnerved. Rather than attack, we snuck down the stairs to the south and passed two patrolling death hounds on the ground level._

_Across the narrow bridge leading west and following the wall, an opening revealed a huge bonfire. Even in the shadows, four ugly vampires immediately attacked. Serana's ranged attacks have become more and more powerful, and I was only half done with killing one when she had disposed of the other three._

_Upstairs, we found Malkus, the vampire who had carelessly written that note. We listened in the shadows while he attempted to enthrall the Moth Priest. The dialogue was ridiculous, the cliché of a vampire with his prey._

" _The more you fight me, the more you will suffer, mortal."_

" _I will resist you, monster. I must!"_

" _How much longer can you keep this up, Moth Priest? Your mind was strong, but you're exhausted from the struggle."_

" _Must... resist..."_

_I was sure it was just a rouse, but when Serana looked at me with wide, anxious golden eyes I knew that whatever Malkus was doing was somehow working. I never knew vampires could actually take over someone's mind like that. I nodded to her, and we flanked the vampire. She ran in front, and as he was about to draw from his magicka, I was already behind him. I sliced his throat open, and he fell like a sack of potatoes._

_It's sick how easily life is stolen._

_It was too late though, and the priest was already enthralled. I stole the Weystone Focus from Malkus' body and ran up the stairs. Only, when I activated its source, and the priest was released, he grew hostile. He started fighting us, and the fight lasted a surprising while—he must have been very well trained in combat, perhaps it is normal for Moth Priests to be trained in battle—I don't know much about monks or priests._

_Still, Serana and I were stronger together, and he was on his knees with my dagger on his throat soon enough. I was afraid we might have to kill him; how long would it take us to find another Moth Priest? Months? Years? Would the Imperial City, the Empire let us employ one?_

_But my fears were in vain—he conceded, and he was released from his late master's maw._

_After introductions, I learned his name to be Dexion Evicus, of the White-Gold Tower. We escorted him back to Fort Dawnguard, where he read Serana's Elder Scroll._

_I have it written down, what he read, so I'll take the liberty of copying it in this letter. I trust you will tell no one, not Lydia, not Adelaissa. These are Dexion's words: "I see a vision before me, an image of a great bow. I know this weapon! It is Auriel's Bow! Now a voice whispers, saying,_

_**Among the night's children, a dread lord will rise."** _

_**In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men, darkness will mingle with light and the night and day will be as one.** _

_**The voice fades and the words begin to shimmer and distort. But wait, there is more here.** _

_**The secret of the bow's power is written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other scrolls.** _

_Yes, I see them now... One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood. My vision darkens, and I see no more. To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other two scrolls."_

_That sounds exhausting and unappealing, but naturally the job was handed to me._

_When I can visit, I'll send a letter beforehand. If there is anything else you might require, let me know. I should be back in Fort Dawnguard by the fifth of Sun's Height._

_Elaira_

* * *

 

_To: Loralei  
From: Evesa_

_14_ _th_ _of Sun's Height, 4E 214_

_I've been considering heading to Cyrodiil in a few years. The province is rich with knowledge and luxuries, and I feel as though I could prosper among the Imperials. I wish to travel to all of its remaining cities and learn from them. After that, I think I'll make my way towards the Summerset Isles. I can't say I've ever been a fan of the gold elves, or their reign, but their knowledge is ancient and sacred. I have no patience for pride or egoism, which all of Tamriel knows the Aldmeri are rich in, but I am no fool to think that they do not hold great knowledge._

_I'm surprised with my parents' reactions, though. My father has always wanted me to be a servant to Mara, and to keep the temple once they are gone, or retired, or whatnot. My mother wanted the same too. I don't blame them for wanting their only child to follow in their footsteps, but I had always thought they were ignorant or blind for not seeing what I want. But they only told me they would start saving for my accommodations in Cyrodiil, and they would begin acquiring contacts in the Imperial City for me to start my pursuit of knowledge._

_I wonder if I have been seeing them all wrong, in all the wrong light for all these years. Even if I have not, at least they are beginning to see now._

_Did I tell you? They have decided to adopt a young girl from the orphanage here in Riften. Her name is Sofie. She is a Nord, no older than six or seven, and was brought here from Windhelm. She was found selling flowers in the streets, by a traveller in Windhelm, and he brought her to the orphanage not two months ago. She is kind, and pretty. She has taken to the beliefs of my parents very well._

_At first I had thought to be jealous, or frustrated that she could be what I could not, but I know deep down that those feelings are false. I am glad I am the way I am, and I am glad Sofie is the way she is as well. My parents deserve what they have always wanted, the same way I do as well._

_I am only twelve years old and in no place to give you advice on raising your children, but I hope you are smart enough to learn from the selfishness of other parents. I am enough for myself without Maramal and Dinya, but I don't think your children will be strong enough without you._

_Mara blesses you and your children. -Evesa_

* * *

 

_30_ _th_ _of Sun's Height_

_Dear Loralei,_

_I'm not sure what advice I can give about Vittoria eating dirt. I can't say I'm having the same problems with Lorgren, but that's probably because his servants are watching him all the time, and I doubt he has even had the opportunity to sit in the dirt. I'm sure most children eat whatever they see. Your daughter must have started it one day when no one was paying attention, and then couldn't stop._

_She'll most likely grow out of it—like picking snot and sucking thumbs. It's ghastly and gross, but most things involving infants are._ Toddlers _, is the right word now, I guess. It's strange how fast they grow. I remember when my son was just a wee thing and I could plop him onto anyone and he'd sleep his days away. Now is far from that easy. It's exhausting chasing around a one year old, and I would be dead if it weren't for the help of my household. But in some ways it's so worth it._

_Sometimes, when I'm speaking with Runa, I'll burst out laughing, and Lorgren will turn to me and laugh too. It's really cute if you see it in person. He has absolutely no idea why it's funny, but because he sees his Ma laughing, it must be what he's supposed to do too. And his kisses disgust Runa. He thinks he's puckering his lips, but really his mouth is wide open, and he'll lean towards you, his whole mouth wide and wet, and it's the most terrifying thing. But for some reason it's still cute._

_Most children probably have those oddities, but he's the only one I've ever been around. He's still amazing, exceptional, no matter how normal he is. You probably feel the same way about Vittoria. Someday they'll be friends, or more. I wish them to meet, even already._

_I know we've both invited each other to visit, but you know_ I _can't leave, not without my whole household. If I was allowed, I would bring a nurse, my son and myself, and be fine without it all, but I'm not even allowed to visit the market without a whole party. Perhaps one day I'll buy a place near yours where I could travel to with all my party, but currently it's not an option. However, I live in a palace—there's plenty of room for you and your soon-to-be litter, and would require far less accommodation._

 _If that's not enough to convince you, I might remind you that Runa's here, at least for the rest of the year. I'm sure you get lonely, like I do. You might think I have a million friends here, but the truth is I feel very lonely, and only my son and Runa have saved me. You and your family's presence would bring me so much joy. I promise I am not the spoiled young girl I was—I'm the spoiled but_ appreciative _young woman now._

_I don't know how much you have heard of the Jarl of Whiterun, but Frothar has even been distant from me. We were so close growing up, but I have not spoken or written to him in months. He has children now, I'm not sure you'd know. Two boys; their names are Balgruuf for our late father, and Hrongar for our uncle. I had thought he would name one of them after Nelkir. We did not spend as much time with him, but I know we both loved him, even if Nelkir never knew it. I wonder if Frothar thinks of our brother like I still do._

_I was always ashamed of Nelkir, but I miss him now. I never understood him; who he was and what he was, but I don't think I_ needed _to understand him to have treated him better. It's different with Frothar. I understand Frothar because we are alike; we are dutiful and selfish, beautiful and cruel. We are so identical, even now, but it's not him I miss; I miss Nelkir…the bastard. He has always seemed so relevant and irrelevant all at once. I never thought about that until he killed himself._

_Did you know he used to bring me little gifts from his business travels? Once it was a wooden boat made from Valenwood bark (dead bark of course). It was dark and fragile, but he kept it safe all the way home, just to give it to me. I still have it in Dragonsreach, since I was too afraid it would break during the journey to Cyrodiil. Another time he gave me the most beautiful necklace from Elsweyr. The silver chain was so fine that from afar, it was only visible by the sparkle of light. The jewel was raw, a naturally formed rainbow gem. That I brought here, and I stored it away in my jewellery box. I planned on giving it to my daughter if I ever have one; I think he would like it if it became a family heirloom of sorts. I want him to be remembered by something beautiful like that, even if it is so far from home._

_He always loved beautiful things. He loved Runa; I think he did until his end. He told it to me, plain and clear, but I don't remember where or when. I don't think I cared very much to be honest. I must have been happy for him or maybe jealous because Nelkir was allowed to marry for love or lust or for his own desires. I wonder now why he told me. It never seemed relevant—when we did ever speak it was about nonsense or politics or chores. We never spoke of feelings or regrets; never anything so serious or personal. I was too blind to see it, but maybe he wanted to change that._

_He must have been so lonely. I was too, you know. In a different way than now, but all three of us, Frothar, Nelkir, and I were alone._

_Dragonsreach is a nice place, and it's cozy, wooden. It could have easily been home. It wasn't cold or grey—it was warm and welcoming. Balgruuf was a good father, doting. I never wished I had a mother, and I never wanted much from my father. I had friends, like you and wealthy Lars and even poor Mila. So I can't understand why we were all so lonely. Our desolation makes no sense; we had everything that could have made us the happiest people in the world. But I'm scared that the loneliness won't ever go away. I'm scared that my own son will be lonely, that no matter how many people are around him, he will feel like he is walking down endless hallways, passing doors which could all lead home, doors he will never walk through._

_You know, I think I understand what you meant when you told me how you see the world. Maybe we all have a veil of our own. I think that's how we're able to go on, that it protects us from the intensity of feelings, of cruelties, of love. I envy Nelkir sometimes… how he was able to feel so powerfully that it was too much._

_It's selfish of me to think such things. And I'm lying if I say I don't love well. I love my husband and my son, and my Empire. Maybe our loneliness, our distance is just an illusion we made up. Do you ever think that? I can't feel bad for myself though, I've never condoned self-pity. Whatever this film over my soul is, I need to rip it apart, and soon._

_When you visit, we can do it together._

_Regards,_

* * *

 

_5_ _th_ _of Last Seed, 4E 214_

_Daughter,_

_I never knew you had learned of my past. It's not so much that I worked to hide it, but I have not even thought of my life before Skyrim in perhaps decades. It might seem cruel or at least strange that I have so easily forgotten my family, but it's easy to leave. It does not matter what roots have held you where you are, or how willingly you had once let them keep you. It doesn't matter how many or how important the ones you leave are. I miss very little, and I have never had regrets. I think of my son all of the time, and I miss you when I am away, but if I am honest, I could so easily never come back, and not regret doing so._

_It's the same with how and when I left my family. They were not my blood, and that was never really a problem for me. I had four brothers who regarded me with respect and my adoptive mother and father raised me to be somebody great. Even now, so far away, I know they have heard of me, and of all the greatness I have accomplished. They might be dead, but I doubt it. Their race lives long and prosperous lives. I am proud that they are the ones who raised me._

_I've never known my real parents, and I have never looked, no matter how curious I was. I'll never know how I was found on the shore of the Summerset Isles, and I'll never know why._

_Anyhow, that's all I care to share about the more personal reflections of my childhood. I'm sure if Evesa would like, I could write her a letter, and any of my family would accept her into their homes. I do not know where they are now, but our name is_ _ **Auvrea-Arnith**_ _. My family's ancestors were known for their proficiency in the destruction arts, particularly fire. This is how we were given the clan name,_ Blood of the Fire _. It's ironic now, I think, or maybe it's just fate that the girl they found washed up on the shores would be the dovahkiin._

_I know you never had a naming ceremony. You could take my family's name, if you wish. You have as much fire in your blood as I ever will. You may not see it, but you burn brighter than even dragonfire._

_We have uncovered much about the Elder Scrolls, and we may have run into Serana's mother. I must go now, but soon I will tell you the details. I'm overjoyed that you enjoy hearing of my adventures as much as I enjoy living it. This way, we are connected, no matter how much our paths differ._

_Just to let you know, I have been granted permission to visit you for my name day. And remind Vittoria of me, will you? I would loathe for her to forget me so easily._

_Love,  
Elaira, Auvrea-Arnith_

* * *

 

_To: Loralei  
From: Evesa_

_13_ _th_ _of Last Seed, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_I'm relieved to hear that you approve of my plans. I never knew that your mother was raised in the Summerset Isles. I can't say I remember her well, but from the way the Nords around Riften spoke of her, one would think she is Nord through and through. Nords tend to forget that the first Dragonborns were Imperial, but then again, they tend to forget all remarkable history that does not belong to them._

_Perhaps in my travels to the Summerset Isles, I might run into her family. I thank you for questioning her about it. I can barely imagine having one sibling, not to mention four. And brothers too! I've heard of the clan your mother has spoken of. Perhaps they will write it in their history books, and all will know she is blood of fire, far more than she'll ever be blood of the north._

_Anyhow, while I wait out my years until I can leave, I must prepare. I've been teaching Sofia how to read and write, but she does not seem to appreciate it. I suppose she'll have other talents._

_Write soon,  
Ev._

* * *

 

_20_ _th_ _of Last Seed, 4E 214_

_A BOY! This is incredible! I haven't told Dagny yet, but I'm sure she'll be bouncing with joy! I always thought it was so perfect when families have an even number of sons and daughters! Have you chosen a name yet? How about Soran, or Torbalt? They are strong, powerful names! Or Hroar perhaps; I think your brother might like that, for his nephew to share his name._

_Maybe you could call him Rune, after yours truly? Whatever you name him, I'm sure it will be both regal and Nordic. If I ever have a son, I'll be certain to name him Lorle or something like that! A fair trade and all._

_I hope you visit, like Dagny keeps begging you to. I promise that you'd love it here. Leaving might be easier than you think._

_Love, love, love,  
Runa_

_P.S. I just told Dagny! If it weren't for the audience, she would have squealed!_

* * *

 

_To: Loralei  
From: Evesa_

_26_ _th_ _of Last Seed, 4E 214_

_I'm glad to hear that your mother has come home. I know it must mean a lot that you are still in correspondence with each other. The birthday wishes you have given to me mean a lot, and I am both glad and surprised you remembered. Is it strange, watching someone grow up? Or is it different, since you left when I was so young, and you know me now only through the letters we have written over the course of these few months?_

_Twelve seems so young still, but then again, I don't think I have ever felt like the youth I was supposed to be._

— _Evesa_

_P.S. Please give your mother good wishes as well._

* * *

 

_3_ _rd_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_This is the twelfth letter I've written. I don't know why you choose to ignore my letters, but I'm sure you have a good reason. I would promise to stop writing you, but I don't think I'd survive. I'm aware that the chances that you even read these are slim, but I take immense pleasure in even pretending like I'm talking with you. Talking_ _**to** _ _you, I suppose, but those are just details that will go unnoticed, I guess._

_I have finished training now, but I am still in Solitude until they have a place for us, most likely down south. I admit I'm glad that I'm not in the heat of the battle. Most men crave the scent of blood and the shine of steel, but I am not like that. Perhaps Braith has always been right; I am a milk-drinker. I was afraid to join this war, and I am afraid still._

_I've recently reunited with Mila. She was here only briefly, and her name is becoming more and more renowned. She fights with a claymore, a two-handed weapon that is becoming more and more popular (think of it as a broadsword, but heavier). Only the strongest men-at-arms can wield it properly, and use it fearsomely in battle. She is strong now, like you wouldn't even believe. She was once tall and lanky, but now she is tall and great. She is as pretty as ever too, only with scars all over her neck, face, and arms. They suit her, however much that scares me. She is a warrior, that one, and her scars are proof of her strength. My mother told me long ago that scars prove the strength it takes to heal._

_Mila is different now, but not just because of her new brute force—she was wicked, that one, I'm sure you remember. She would sneer and grin, send a wicked glance that would make the largest of men shiver. She was smart, witty maybe. She may not have been good at chess or cards, but she could think quickly. I remember her so well, the way her smile twinkled with mischief, and her eyes saw all of you, as if you were stripped naked in front of her. But now her smiles pass like ghosts, and her eyes are empty, and she sees nothing. She is distant, and dull, like she_ is _nothing. She is not brave, only unafraid of death because there is no life left within her._

_She is a broken shell of what she used to be, and I don't know what to do._

_I've never been good at fixing people._

_I can only hope that once she survives this war, she can find some way to fix herself._

_As for me, well, just as the war remains unchanged, I'm still the same Lars. I'm still afraid. I'm still lonely. I'm the same as I'll ever be._

_-L. Battle-Born_

* * *

 

_17_ _th_ _of Heart-Fire, 4E 214_

_My dear daughter,_

_I have settled back into Fort Dawnguard, after making a few detours upon heading east. Serana left when I returned, and has since disappeared. Everyone thinks she has betrayed us, and has gone to share her knowledge with her father, but I don't share this belief. Serana may be a vampire, one of the vampire lords even, but she is still human in the truest senses. She is brave, and strong. She can be grumpy, and she can make people laugh. She is dead, but she is also reborn, and can feel the burn of heat and the tickle of chill the same as us._

_I don't know where she is, but I can only assume that she is in search for the scrolls. We haven't even had a single clue where either of the scrolls might be. We have gone all across Skyrim, in search. We have used violence, spies, lies, bribery, anything. But nothing has worked. I'm worried that Lord Harkon has already found the scrolls—that he is laughing at our sour attempts at finding that which is already in his possession._

_I have used all my resources. My contacts in Riften only wanted to know more. I was insulted by that, obviously. I thought I had acquired enough respect over my years of work with them that no such questions would be asked, no matter the request. They're most likely bitter because of my resignation._

_I even tried to gain information from Winterhold, but they knew nothing. I reached out to the Empire, but like my old associates in Riften, they were greedy to know more, believing my loyalty to them would surpass my loyalty to the Dawnguard, and the confidentiality which they were promised._

_Our members have travelled all across Skyrim, and even the edges of our bordering provinces to learn absolutely nothing. We had three false leads, and lost good men in vain. There is not much else we can do, and waiting is not even an option._

_I have faith in myself, and I have faith in the divines. I have faith in the Dawnguard, and I have faith in Serana. But it seems that right now, that is all we have._

_I was glad to see you and Vittoria, and I'll visit again soon. With the way things are going, I might have a lot of spare time on my hands._

_Yours Truly,  
Elaira_

* * *

 

_To: Loralei Auvrea-Arnith  
From: Evesa_

_3_ _rd_ _of Frostfall, 4E 214_

_Recently, I've been studying the birthsigns. I know in the recent century or so, birthsigns are less and less revered, and are said to be irrelevant, but I still think they're worth knowing about. Perhaps not quite scientifically proofed, they are still interesting, and since when has the world asked for much scientific proof?_

_I was born in Last Seed, which means that I was born under the sign of the Warrior. Obviously, this is horribly fitted for me, since the warrior represents strength, and bravery. The Warrior is the first of the Guardian constellations (the others being mage and thief), and he protects his charges during their seasons. During his season, he gives strength necessary for the harvest. Most born under my sign are prone to short tempers._

_Your mother, though she was born in the same month as I, does not share my birthsign. According to this log I found (which contains nearly a century of information about astronomical changes), your mother was born under the sign of the Serpent. He, unlike any of the other signs, has no season, and travels through the months aimlessly, only somewhat predictable. Those born under his sign have no common traits. Apparently, those born under this sign have both the most powerful blessings, as well as the most treacherous curses. It's a good thing that all this is fictional, though, or your mother would lead a terribly tragic life._

_Anyhow, your sign is the Mage, which makes sense since you use healing magic. Except, most born under the Mage are arrogant and absent-minded, which you don't seem to be._

_Your daughter was born under the sign of the Ritual, which is often associated with restoration magic and resurrection. Coincidently, she is one of the Mage's charges! And your son, if he's born in Sun's Dawn, will be born under the Lover sign. They are passionate and graceful, one of the Thief's charges._

_I doubt any of these really apply, but I thought you might like to learn about it. Evesa_

* * *

 

_18_ _th_ _of Frostfall, 4E 214_

_Thank you for the gift, it was beautiful. Even Dagny swooned! It is strange to be twenty. I feel as though I am both old and young, both lost and searching. I wonder if I have always felt like that, or if I always will._

_Love,  
Runa._

* * *

 

_1_ _st_ _of Sun's Dusk, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_Serana returned a few days past, with new information. A lot is still unclear, but this is the gist of it: Serana believes that one of the Elder Scrolls is somewhere in her father's castle. Currently, we are preparing to infiltrate his castle, and we should be ready to leave in a few days. We have spent far too much time preparing, and we won't have time to make a detour to Falkreath._

_The vampires' forces have nearly doubled, and fledglings are still being recruited. The Dawnguard is strong, and our numbers grow as well. They seem not to know what Serana does, but who knows what Lord Harkon might be hiding._

_Serana and I will be going in alone, and I have experience in Stealth, thankfully. If all goes as planned, we might come out victorious just yet._

_I'll write again as soon as I can._

— _Elaira_

* * *

 

_8_ _th_ _of Sun's Dusk, 4E 214_

_Miss Loralei,_

_I'm glad to hear the nausea has finally ceased. I cannot even fathom so many months of sickness. I am so grateful that my pregnancy went smoothly, though I am afraid for my second. Speaking of which, I believe my husband is concerned that he will not get a child on me. I tell him not to worry so, but even I am concerned it is impossible. Evidently, I am not barren, but what if we must wait even longer?_

_Tobias has always wanted a large family. He planned on having enough to fill all the rooms of the palace! By the divines, I hope not! My womb would not survive!_ **I** _would not survive! Still, I would be obliged to give him at least six children. But I am not getting any younger, and Runa's name day last month has aided in reminding me so._

_I think perhaps the divines are giving me what I have wanted, but I know better than to ask for that. If my husband the Emperor wants six children, I must give them to him. I would far rather do my duty as his wife and as the Empire's second ruler than submit to my selfish wants. I know my place, and I know how to keep it, which is why I_ _**will** _ _grow with child._

_They say that things only happen when you stop trying for it, but I'm in no position to rely on luck and faith. It goes against all of my being. If I have a goal, I shall achieve it, no matter what they say. If I fail, that failure is on me alone. Luck and faith, the divines and our destinies are not what guide us in life. Don't forget it, Loralei—_ we  _are in charge of what happens to us. I take no excuses, especially from myself._

_On a happier note, I think the name you chose is an excellent one!_

_Love always,  
Dagny_

_P.S. I apologize if I was preaching, but I needed to be reminded._

* * *

 

_29_ _th_ _of Sun's Dusk, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_I'm with child! Only a few weeks, but it has been confirmed. Your letters of encouragement and faith mean more than I might try to convince myself otherwise. It seems we two live our lives always on the same page!_

_I've been trying to spend as much of my time as possible with Lorgren. He speaks in sentences now, you know. And yes, of course I'm jealous that Vittoria beat him to it, but what can we do about it. Don't forget, Lorgren did walk first (which surprises me, since most of his servants insist on carrying him everywhere)._

_On that pleasant note, I must be off. Tobias and I have a private dinner with our son._

_The most happy,  
Dagny_

* * *

_15_ _th_ _of Evening Star, 4E 214_

_Loralei,_

_I must keep this letter brief, but we have located one of the scrolls. Serana was right—it was right below Lord Harkon, and we managed to steal it away anyway! I'll be visiting for the Old Life, so I'll tell you all the gory details once I'm home._

_Until then,  
Elaira_

* * *

 

_To: Loralei AA  
From: Evesa_

_1_ _st_ _of Morning Star, 4E 214_

_My mother made these for you and your children. She has blessed them in the name of Mara. Happy New Life!_

_Evesa_

* * *

 

_8_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 214_

_Daughter,_

_I would have passed this day in ignorance, as I have for so many years now—this morning I woke up thinking it was any normal day—but then I decided to write this letter and I had to ask for the date._

_I wondered if you remember that today was the day your brother died, thirteen years ago. I've managed to avoid it for many years now, forcing myself to lose track of the dates. It was easy though, since I've never had a good sense of time or dates. Months could go by and I would not know the difference, and sometimes days feel like weeks. I'm sure you've noticed that, though—how fast or how slow my life passes, how months can go by and I won't even realise. I don't know how I haven't missed your birthdays, or even my birthdays. Perhaps I have some sort of selective memory, and subconsciously I can choose what seems real and what to forget or remember. I guess I couldn't have gone all the rest of my life missing every 8th of Morning Star. I think maybe it was wrong of me to avoid it for as long as I did... I should have paid my respects; I should have honoured him in death as I did not in life._

_Hroar would have been such a great man. He would be smart, wise, and strong in the ways unknown to a warrior, but well versed for a simple man. He would know how to face loss, and he would know restraint and how to balance money and crops and the things like that. I wonder if he would be some sort of farmer or banker or investor, if he would open a Meadery or be a priest like you. I think about him a lot—what he would do or what he would wish; which choices he would make and which goals he would achieve. There are so many moments that have passed in my life that I have wondered what he would say; which snarky remark, which question. I have longed to speak with him for so long now. I want to listen to his stories, and laugh with him. I want to meet his wife and spoil his children. He had so much life, even when he was dying he seemed so alive, with so much emotion and heart and loss._

_I had always envisioned him living such an incredible life. Not like mine, though. He wouldn't be wild and adventurous; he wouldn't live through mysteries and battles and legends. Hroar's life would be built on his endless curiosity for everything. He would be remembered for eternity through the bonds he would make with the people he loved. He would love so well, I know. And the whole world would learn to love him in return. You and Hroar would have grown even closer than you were. You would have stayed together all your lives, in soul, in heart and in family. And me, well I would have come back in a week, in a month, in a year and the three of us would have continued like we were supposed to before I left you. Maybe even you could have forgiven me. He didn't, you know. In his last breath he said, "You took too long, Mama. You are late, Mama." And when I saw him one last time in Sovngarde, before I faced Alduin, I tried to speak to him, but he only repeated those last words over and over and over._

_Sometimes I wonder what he would be doing if he were here now, in this realm instead of stuck in Sovngarde, where he can never grow or change or think. Here, he would be so tall and so handsome. He would be as curious as ever, asking all the questions in the universe. He would be rude and confused and understanding all the same. I wish constantly he were with me. I want to hear his voice, to ask_ him _questions, to hug him, to feel his skin warm, young, I want to see it wear with time. I want to hold his hand and let the years pass by, watch and feel how they grew stronger and older and different._

_Instead he is young forever, trapped in that place all Nords dream of going. But there is nothing in Sovngarde to want. The fire which grows tall and large in the middle of the hall emits no warmth, and there are no opportunities to do and learn more. There is no purpose to those dead Nords' lives, and they wander not lost and not found. They eat and drink without tasting the salt, without savouring the sweetness, without feeling the warmth._

_When I am dead, I will not go to the Hall where the fire that burns will not warm my hands. I've made promises to do something greater with my soul—my dovah sos. I only wish Hroar had a chance to be someone great, like I have become, rather than the boy who died into emptiness and sadness. After I made my deal with Nocturnal, to be her servant even after death, I had been so regretful. I had always planned on meeting your father and your brother back in the dead world, but now I know I would have never found peace._

_You know, I have been many things in this life—a warrior, a thief, a barmaid, a mother. I have always thought that being a sentinel was most like being a warrior—they both fight to achieve something or to fulfill a promise. Both require strength and power, strong will. But warriors are reckless and hot-headed, driven to battle by the intoxication of blood and adrenaline. They need to know how to kill, to win, and to conquer. But protectors are different. They need patience and loyalty, a drive to protect and shield. It is now I realise that sentinels are not like warriors, they are like mothers. I wonder if my path in death is a chance to learn what I could not in life._

_These are sad things to think of, and I'm sorry if I have worried or upset you. It was selfish of me to write to you of your brother. I know your loss is equal to mine. I hope someday we can find it in ourselves to grieve together, and try to understand the loss I have for so long ignored._

_Signed,  
Elaira_

* * *

 

_5_ _th_ _of Sun's Dawn, 4E 214_

_To: Dagny  
From: Loralei_

_I am proud to announce that Nelkir was born yesterday, late at night. I've decided not to use a wet nurse, like you suggested. Vittoria was fascinated, just like I'm sure your son will be when your second child is born._

_You know, when Vittoria was born, I had felt so alone. Even through her infancy, I never truly felt like a mother. Still, that title seems strange when given to me, but I hold Nelkir in my arms, and I watch as Vittoria stares, green eyes wide, and I can finally feel the undeniable thump of my heart, and how it has grown louder and stronger, reminding me that my life does not solely belong to myself anymore, and how that knowledge was the only thing that could have saved me._

_Nelkir has woken now._

_I'll write you soon._

_Love,  
Loralei_

_P.S. I still read the letters he sends. I can't help myself, though I know it's only tormenting me more. I haven't written back though… Do you think my children will grow to resent me for it? I can only hope they will understand why I don't tell him. I know you think I should have told him but I'm still so afraid he wouldn't come back… or maybe I'm afraid that he would?_

* * *

 

I had never pictured my life like that, the way it was in early 4E 215—living in an isolated manor where it always rained, raising two bastard children born of the same estranged father. I had always assumed that my future would be plain and simple, that I would marry a rich man and raise plenty of spoiled children. It took a very long time though, to learn to accept and to embrace and to understand the blessings I had been given. I was still learning, but by Nelkir's birth, I had learned to love and appreciate my daughter. I was so thankful for Vittoria, who grew prettier with time. She was so calm and gentle, but also proud and curious. She walked like a man, I noticed; each step heavy, loud, and dominating. She commanded the acknowledgement of the world, without even realising it. She had a girly flow of mannerisms—her giggle, her measured hands, the bounce of her muddy curls with each hefty patter.

My son I was still learning to know into the spring months. He was born with blue eyes, which had made my heart shudder, but with the weeks they turned greener until they were no longer blue, but a golden-green hazel. I thought they might be hazel like Hroar's had been, but I could not quite remember the exact shade.

Nelkir was smaller than his sister had been, but his lungs were stronger. He had cried for hours after his birth, and had not taken to the wet nurse. I had been scared at first, when Lydia had urged me to feed him, but he took to me well, and I found myself easing into it. Nelkir liked very few, and would cry in the wrong arms. He would not cease his wailing when Lydia had held him for the first time, and only stopped once Vittoria touched him. She had been nervous, but fascinated, far too young to understand who her brother was, and what exactly that meant. But she had approached him, his face red and had slipped her finger into his fist. He had turned to her, so curiously, his eyes still so blue, and his breaths had steadied.

Vittoria had showed little interest in Nelkir after that, and selfishly I was almost glad. It would have hurt too much to see Vittoria grow so close with her brother, to form a bond that I would never be able to find for myself ever again. It was not fair that  _I_ would never be completely whole without Hroar. He had left so many marks in me that felt bare and unguarded; empty. I could still feel all the places he was supposed to be—I had already mapped out all the empty spaces in my heart and in my life; I had traced the cracks in my bones where they had shattered once he'd died. Maybe it was for the best that Vittoria and her brother remained not completely whole, without risk of breaking and being left empty.

* * *

 

For the first month, I had spent all my days at home, playing with Vittoria, teaching her old Nord songs, and reading her stories. Nelkir slept and cried, and by the end of the month, he was already plumper than his sister had been. The days were forgettable and memorable all at once. Each day was full of joy and warmth, chit-chatter and wasted laughter among the household.

My mother had come home to meet my son. While she held him, she had laughed and cried, and had said his name over and over again. She seemed hysterical, but it had made me cry too, and laugh too, and we had sat and huddled close and just watched my son for hours. Once we had calmed down, she told me of all the times she had ever met a baby—a squirrel in the Summerset Isles, abandoned by his family and raised by her own brother; a child by the name of Normand who had been the son of a dark elf family up in Winterhold; a baby bear she had killed by accident the night before she had met my father. She told me about my own birth, the same story I had heard a million times when I had still been a little girl. She spoke of the rain, how all had been so silent just for me, just for Hroar. She had spoken of the way Onmund had laughed when he held Hroar and had cried when he'd held me. I thought Elaira would cry once more after that but she only smiled down at her grandson, and told me about meeting Vittoria, and the green of her eyes, the way they were hers and mine and ours.

I thought about the way I would speak to my children someday, when we were all grown up. I wondered what I would say, if I would even be able to say anything. Would I tell Vittoria I had not loved her straight away? Would I tell Nelkir I did not want him to love his sister? Or would I speak of the green in Vittoria's eyes, and warn her that they would never stop shining with wonder? Would I say to Nelkir that I loved him completely, that even when he shrieked and cried, I had wanted to hold him in my arms and keep him there with me? Or would I instead tell them that to me, Vittoria meant childhood and Nelkir meant bastard?

* * *

 

Mother had left not a week after she had arrived, but I had let her go willingly.

* * *

 

It was already spring when I decided to follow Runa's advice from long ago. It was one of the rarer days without rain, and the sun was high in the sky. The ground was still wet and muddy as I made my way to Falkreath, but my tough leather boots were made for the terrain, and I trudged on without peril. I had made the boots myself, only a few months ago, when I had had nothing else to do. It was the stable boy who had helped me—his father was a shoemaker—and had shown me all the different styles we could use, the different leather for the different parts of it. The boy had joked that he and I should start a shoemaking company.

I wiped my muddy boots on a rug outside of the Hall. It was a small little hut, with old cobblestone walls and a hay-covered roof, much like all the other short buildings in Falkreath. The cemetery around it stretched for almost an acre. Its attendant was working hard at digging the weeds, far off from the Hall.  _It must be awful to work outside all the time in Falkreath_ , I thought lightly as I entered the Hall.

Since the dead were buried outside, the Hall was more like a single-roomed house, with a shrine of Arkay set lazily on a table against one of the walls, and a bed not far from it. The only attendant to the shrine was a gold elf named Runil. He was tall, and had long white hair, gelled back so it hardly moved. His skin was greenish, and he wore a wrinkled frown, though it was a frown like most elves'. Still, he was not ugly, and had wide, pale gold-green eyes, and a small, pointed mouth.

Runil smiled when he saw me. "Good morning, Loralei. Are you ready to begin?"

"Of course," I said. I hovered by the door, nervous despite myself. "I was glad to hear that you would accept me, I was afraid you had no need for more aid."

"The number of graves in this cemetery never decreases, I'm afraid. There is always so much to do. Obviously, I wouldn't discredit your status as a Priestess, and you are free to attend to the shrine we have, but the work I have for you is mostly in the cemetery," he explained, standing with his hands clasped in front of him.

"I figured as much," I admitted. "I had thought you had more help though."

"Oh, merciful Arkay, of course I do! I am too old and frail, and this graveyard is too large. Kust is my assistant. He helps me tend the headstones and keep our cemetery clean, as befits a place of rest. Perhaps you saw him outside, out by the graves, did you not?"

"Yes, though I was just confirming. And of course, I will help him with his responsibilities; I'd be happy to serve the divines, even Arkay, in any way that I can."

Outside, I found Kust only a few graves away from where he had been before. I walked towards him, and he seemed not to notice my approach. I could see him clearer now, and he looked different than what I had assumed. I had seen him on several occasions, during my previously infrequent visits to the town, or the few mornings I'd woken up at Dead Man's Drink. He was a barrel-chested Nord with a bald head, who wore old but well-fitted iron armour. Up close, I could see that he was much younger than I had thought, but still many years older than me. His skin was smooth, undamaged by the sun, but it was covered in a film of dirt and sweat from the early morning's work. His mouth rested in a wide line, and it was a while before his eyes rested on me.

"Can I help you?" he said.

"Well actually, I'm here to help you," I admitted, trying on a sluggish smile. "Did Runil tell you that I was going to start helping out here?" He apprehended me, before returning to the dandelion he had just removed.

"Well, I guess you can tend to the flowers for now… just remember that these graves hold the sons and daughters of Falkreath. Show some respect while you're here and you and I will be fine."

"I know… there are a lot of good men buried here, they deserve proper care," I said, almost awkwardly. Kust squinted up at me, his mouth still in a loose straight line.

"Men aren't good or bad," he said. "They're just men."

I thought to respond, but when he stood up and moved on to the next weed, I just nodded to myself and turned back to the little stone hut in search of supplies.

* * *

 

I blinked twice when I entered the room. Lucia sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor of her living room. Books with old runes burned into the pages and wear from hundreds of years were sprawled all around her. Currently, she was reciting a spell from a dark blue leather-bound book. The language was foreign to my ears.

"What are you reciting, Lucia? Where did you find those books?" I demanded, looking around me. I was bewildered, and despite my trust in the young girl, I was scared for her.

"Oh don't worry, it's not a spell or anything," Lucia giggled. She closed up the blue book and plopped it only one of the stacks beside her. "Well, it is, but it only works while performing rituals, which I'm not dumb enough to do, really. I found these books when a khajiit caravan came by. Mam Lydia let me buy them if I promised not to try anything without asking her first."

"Well… what are you trying to do? Don't you think you're a little young for this old-magic-potentially-voodoo-stuff?"

"Probably." She smiled at me, and moved some hair out of her face.

"How old  _are_  you anyway?" I asked, striding over to her. I plopped down next to her and grabbed the nearest book. I opened it to a random page and saw:  _the reanimation of corpses requires much more science and bodily sacrifice than expected_.

"Ten, I think," she answered, leaning over to see what had made me frown. "It's weird stuff, isn't it? I don't know how any straight-thinking person would even want to revive something dead. It's the actual process that interests me."

"Well, I don't know a lot about necromancy or destruction or whatnot, but I know some healing spells. Maybe when you're a little older I can teach you a little." Almost awkwardly, Lucia took my hands in hers and grinned at me. I blushed, feeling a little uncomfortable, but I managed a small smile in return.

"I'd be so obliged, Miss Lorie! But I've already practiced some healing spells. It took a lot of reading, which I don't like so much, but I managed. And I've been practicing the alchemic methods that you taught me, and I think I'm getting really good at it. Mam says that I've got a gift with the magical arts." I squeezed Lucia's hand before letting it go again.

"Of course you do, Lucia. Maybe one day you could even go to the College of Winterhold."

"Maybe," she said, shrugging. She looked at the books around her with a fond little smile. "Or maybe there are places even better for me." Slowly, I nodded, imagining all the beautiful and monstrous places she might have meant.

* * *

 

The summer sun was bright in my eyes and I pulled my floppy hat farther to shade my face. Lydia and her family had come to visit often in the past weeks, which at first had been strange and heartwarming. Now it was like a routine, a comfort for them to spend so much time with my family. Today we sat on the balcony, since the sun was high and the rain was far away. Lydia was laughing at something Erik had said, but I hadn't heard. It wasn't so much that I wasn't paying attention, but I was being distracted by a screaming two year old and a baby who was still squirming dangerously in Adelaissa's arms.

" _I want it!_ " Vittoria cried, and I tried not to roll my eyes. I had never realised how little patience I had for the dramatics of little girls. I wondered how I had ever grown up with Runa. Currently, Vittoria was fighting for a glass of sugar water, which she insisted she would like. Only, she didn't remember that the last time I had given it to her, she had been sick for a while after.

"No," I said.

"Why?" Vittoria crossed her arms and pouted. Some might have found it cute, but it only irritated me. I loved my children, but I had never and would never fall for such shenanigans, not even for a two year old.

"I told you why, Vittoria. You got sick the last time," I explained, keeping an eye on Nelkir, who refused to stay still in the Stewardess' arms. I trusted she could hold a baby, but this one was a menace.

"No I didn't! I won't this time, Mama, I promise!" she insisted, taking my hand into hers. It reminded me of how Lucia would do the same sometimes. Children were so strange.

"Why do you want it anyway?" I asked, pouring myself some water. Vittoria looked baffled, her small mouth agape.

"Listen to your mum," Erik supplied, smiling wide. He patted his wife hard on the shoulder before moving to steal Nelkir from a now-frustrated Adelaissa. "If you don't know what you're fighting for, then what's the point?" The baby cooed in Erik's arms, and stopped squirming. Adelaissa huffed. Vittoria stomped, and then sighed. I smiled gently at her, careful not to be patronizing, and patted the seat next to me.

"Is there anything  _else_  you would like to eat?"

Vittoria nodded, climbing up next to me. She leaned against me, and I pulled my arm around her.

Later, Lucia came running up the steps, Bran on her heels as she took a seat at the table. We stayed all afternoon and soon enough, the sun faded behind the lake, and together we watched, as if this was the last and the first sunset of our lives.

* * *

 

"By the Eight, Kust," I breathed. "It's so  _hot_. Can't we take a break today?" It was late in Sun's Height, and the sun was bright and the air was humid. It hadn't rained in a week, and when it had, the water had been warm and sticky. Kust wiped the sweat off his brow, and dropped his rag.

"Screw it, let's get a drink," he said, and I smiled despite my exhaustion from the heat. "If we don't, we might become one of these sorry folk."

I dropped my rag, and followed him back into town.

"You know, we could go swimming," I suggested. Kust shot me a side glance, and blushed. I rolled my eyes as I struggled to keep up at his pace. "I live on a  _lake_."

"I know," he said, but he was still headed in the direction of the inn.

"There's drinks there too, and I'm sure my daughter will want to swim too," I swayed. "It could be fun!"

"I'm not a fan of kids, if I'm honest," he said, not unkindly. I rolled my eyes. I wondered when I'd picked up the habit. It seemed I'd been doing it a lot lately.

"Me neither," I said. Kust chuckled and shook his head. "Well, you're welcome to come along, but I'm not waiting here for you."

"You go on ahead; I'll join you some other time." He smiled though, and wiped his brow again. I smiled back, and did an awkward little bow before I turned away. I cursed myself for it the whole way, but when I stepped into the cool water of the lake, I forgot about him completely.

* * *

 

_6_ _th_ _of Last Seed, 4E 215_

_Loralei,_

_It's a girl! Well… I suppose we already knew that but that's beside the point. Carlotta was born late yesterday evening, and is very healthy indeed. She'll be pretty, that one. She has blue eyes right now, but I don't doubt they'll get darker with age._

_I'm still exhausted, but I couldn't wait for you to hear the news._

_Luck,  
Dagny_

* * *

 

Vittoria's hair was thick and beautiful. The curls were loose and long, and I loved to run my fingers through it. When she got older, she would hate the frizz, but there was something about curly hair that seemed just so endearing—so special. Every night before bed, she would let me braid it, and it would take me twice as long as necessary, just because I loved to touch it. During the summer it was the colour of hazelnuts, all warm and roasted. In the winter, it would darken into a brown sable mass of ringlets.

It was late in the night, during the end of Last Seed when Vittoria knelt in front of the overstuffed armchair where I sat. The night air was chilled, and the flames cackled in the stone fire place. The household was long asleep and away, everyone off in their wings dreaming of better places or of tomorrow. Vittoria had been asleep too, but she had woken up again some time ago, and had crawled into my room, asking me to fix her braid which had come undone.

"Did you have fun today?" I asked quietly. She nodded, and yawned widely.

"Yeah…" she sighed. I tied her ribbon, and she nuzzled against my knees.

"What did you think of Kust?" I asked. He had spent the day at the manor, and had played with Vittoria almost all day. Nelkir hadn't liked him much, and had stayed away.

"Is that the boy without the hair, Mama?" Her eyes were shut, and her words were mumbled.

"Yes, girlie."

"He was fun," she confirmed, though I suspected she did not completely remember him. "He'll be back to play, won't he, Mama?"

"Mhm," I said, and pulled her up onto my lap. "I hope so. Let's sleep now, okay?"

"Yes mama," she said, falling into my arms like the small child she was—the child I'd hoped she would always be. The flyaways of her thick and beautiful hair tickled my neck, and I smiled as her breathing steadied, wondering not for the first time how the gods and I had created something so exquisite.

* * *

 

Autumn passed like a swift gust of wind, and it was Old Life before anyone knew it. Kust and I had spent the night setting candles on graves, and lighting them one by one. It had been midnight when we reached the last candle. The name on the grave it rested on had been worn away to nonexistence. I watched Kust as he said the final prayer. His face was dark in the moonlight, but it was enough to see that he looked magnificent. It took me a few moments to take in the whole scene—Kust standing in the cemetery, lights glittering all around him, mimicking the stars above. He still wore his iron armor, and his stance was almost fearsome.  _A sentinel of the dead_ , I thought.  _Mother told me once about warriors and protectors and mothers._

I only watched as he stepped towards me, as he took my hands. His hands were large and callused, dirt forever imbedded underneath his nails. Mine were rough too now and I doubted I had the hands of a rich girl or musician or a Priestess. My hands were dirty, and my nails were short and jagged. Our ugly and worn fingers had laced together somehow, and I was almost surprised when he leaned in close. My heart thumped wildly as he smiled at me. It was a small smile, but it was so rich and delicious that it was all I could do to wait for him to lean in just a little closer. He kissed me, with no hesitance. His lips were rough, and my face was red from the cold of the winter air and from the warmth that he made me feel. Kust smiled when he kissed me, and though the kiss lasted only a moment before the two of us broke apart in fits of childish giggles; it had felt like a million moments flowing and combusting into the mere seconds that our lips had touched.

He took my hand when we calmed down. In a silence not even the dead could hear, we protected our great sepulcher—where the honoured and the dishonoured; all those who had once belonged and all those who had never known home or love or wisdom were rested. Together, we were warriors and protectors and mothers and fathers, farmers and bards, kings and queens, gods and beggars. Together, we were nothing but a monk and a priestess, with the moon above us and the swell of the world in our hearts.

* * *

 

Nelkir had been walking for some weeks now, and had to be watched one hundred percent of the time. He would find plates to break, stairs to climb, and nails to eat all over if it had not been for our constant eye on him. Vittoria still ignored him most of the time, even though he would do his best to mimic her—he would sit where she sat, laugh when she laughed, and only ever wanted to eat the food she ate. Lately, he had wanted her to go to sleep with him, but that couldn't be allowed. I had been warned by many of the things babies could get too used to.

Now, Nelkir waddled over to me with a grin on his face. He looked a little mad, with his curls bouncing around him and his eyes wide like saucers. Elaira had come to visit for a few weeks for the children's' birthdays, and she would be leaving again in a few days. She sat with Vittoria on the floor, not far from me. They were reading a book together, in hushed voices. The book was old, with a black leather binding. Its pages were stained yellow and I wondered if I should be letting my three year old touch it.

"Hi, Baby!" I said. I giggled as Nelkir crashed into my arms. I lifted him up, and held him tightly. I kissed the top of his head as he laughed. "Do you want food?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said breathily. "Food."

I set him down, and reached over to grab the small bowl of grapes. They were his favourite. "Do you want these grapes, Nelkir?" He nodded, leaning on my knees.

"Gap, gap, gap" he repeated. Mother laughed and Vittoria rolled her eyes—or what counted for it on a toddler. I placed a diced up grape in Nelkir's hand, and grabbed the bowl to bring back to my seat.

"Do you have all your stuff ready, mom?" I asked, throwing some grapes in my mouth too.

"No, not yet," she said. "I didn't bring much though."

"Well, if you need any help, I'm here," I offered. She smiled softly up at me, the corners of her mouth crinkling.

"Of course," was all she replied. Vittoria had left her, and was playing with a dollhouse that Elaira had commissioned to be built. "The Dawnguard War… it's taken longer than I thought it would," she admitted after a drawn out silence.

"You don't have to keep fighting if you're tired of it." But she didn't look tired at all, not old or worn. She looked well, which didn't make any sense to me. She was in her forties now, and it was around now that she should start feeling the pains of her line of work. She should want peace now, a good home and a pleasant retirement. Instead, she still seemed like a young woman, who was hungry for more adventure. I could tell even by the way she sat. She sat perched, like she was ready to spring up at any moment, to defend or to fight or to adventure. Even her brilliant eyes were alive and vibrant. They were always wandering and alert with thought and to her surroundings. She looked how she must have when she was twenty-something, before she had a title and money and children.

Sure, there was wisdom in her, wisdom which had taken years of love and hardship and war to build, but she seemed like she was far from ready to stop loving and living, fighting and exploring. When would she tire, and when would she finally hope for peace and a good home? But even as I posed these questions, I knew that people like my mother did not have home or peace or thoughts of a life without danger and blood. Those people were not sentinels or fathers or mothers who could stay and protect—they were warriors and thieves, billowing winds instead of long and tangled roots.

Mother smiled at me still, like she was trying to memorize me, or pull me apart or put me back together in her mind. "I don't ever get to stop fighting," she said. Her voice was low, quiet, like she wasn't sure she was even speaking aloud.

"I know," I said. "What happens after this war? Will you fight in the civil war?"

"No, I have no care for politics, in true." I frowned, passing my son a few more grapes. He sat between my legs, leaning against me. "I know, it's a horrible confession—A thane without a want of political power."

"It's not as though it was your favourite title anyway," I said. She offered a chuckle. "So what  _are_  you going to do, Mama?" She seemed to still at the last word, but only for a moment. I had said it on accident, and I could not stop my cheeks from flaring red.

"I won't stay here," she said. I couldn't tell if it was a promise or just a thought. "I want to go back to Riften."

"What's in Riften for you?" I asked.

"I belong there, among them."

"Among who?" I asked, though I felt like I knew the answer. I could feel my heart beat heart against my chest. "That red haired man—the one with the accent?" She laughed, but avoided my eyes.

"Yes, him. I haven't seen him in a very long time," she said.

"Since Whiterun—" I blurted, and flushed at my insolence.

"How do you know that?" she asked, not accusingly.

"I heard you two speak. Your voices woke me up," I admitted. She nodded, slowly. "…Can I ask you something, Elaira?" She turned to me, and for once she seemed old again, in a strange illusory way.

"What is it?"

"Was… was Matilda his child?" She froze once more, but held my gaze.

"No," she said, after a long time. "I didn't sleep with him, not then."

I almost asked her if she had loved him too—if she loved him still. I wanted to ask if she had wished the child had been his, wished she had chosen him since the start. I wanted to ask why she was going to choose him over me, why she would leave me forever to be with him. Was he loved so much that the woman who never chose, could really choose him? Or was this going to be another phase—another evolution of Elaira who would one day leave too. Was he going to be left waiting for days and then months and then years and then forever?

I felt angry, even though I shouldn't have. I felt it bubble inside of me, engorge my being. It was the angry that brought tears to my eyes, and I had to blush and look away before she could see. My skin was hot, and I felt ashamed and upset and furious.

"Loralei," she whispered, and suddenly she was at my chair, kneeling beside me. She looked up at me, eyes pleading and worried. "Are you alright?"

"I just—" I began, but my voice cracked, and I couldn't hold it in any longer. I cried, and Vittoria ran to me, and my son cried too. My mother just knelt there, and I let her, wondering how she could slay a dragon, and walk the plains of Sovngarde and return. I wondered how she could fight an empire of vampires, how she could kill and kill and kill, save and save and save. I wondered how she could be so great and so powerful that songs were sung all around Skyrim in her name. I wondered how she could be all that, and only stare and breathe and watch as my whole body shook, and I could not breathe. How could she stay there, unmoving while I broke in front of her, all the pieces she had to put together in her mind a broken and unsolvable puzzle once more?

 _Dragonborn_  they called her, and I did not have to wonder why.  _They burn and burn and burn, and then they fly away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: We've reached the 100k mark, and in 4 days, it's My Dear Father's first birthday! I just wanted to thank everyone who has read or cared about this story. I went into writing this story after months of having the idea in my head, and from the start I have cared about it dearly. If you have at all cared about this story, I am grateful to you, and even just your spiritual support. After twelve, there are three more chapters. To be honest, it's going to be strange not having this story to continue to write, but I guess that's a trial for later. Thank you all, and don't forget: reviews are better than candy xx
> 
> (I just noticed that I published chapter ten on November 13th, chapter eleven on January 13th, and today is February 13th! That's super weird...)
> 
> ((Also this chap is about 15.6k words))
> 
> **AND IT WAS EDITED ON JULY 13TH! I swear I didn't do this on purpose O.O**  
> ****AND I POSTED THIS CHAP AND THE REST FOR A COMPETITION ON INKIT ON OCTOBER 13TH!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING????***


	13. Be done in love

There are many different kinds of love in our world. There is brotherly love; the love I felt and would always feel for Hroar. Platonic love—a love between friends and companions—was the love I found with Blaise and Mila and Dagny. There is also sexual love, obsessive love, a love between a mother and her children. But these definitions are far too simple for the way humans feel, for the way that love intoxicates our bodies and wraps around our souls.

I refuse to believe there is only one kind of love between a mother or father and their child. The way my mother loved me was not the same love which is described by books and other people; it was distant and regretful. Her love for me was not like a vine growing and tightening around me, nor like a sentinel which followed in my shadow. Her love was not a brace, which would help me walk, help me breathe and help me grow. Instead, my mother's love was like a breeze, which would push and pull with its own will, only touching me softly before dying out, never with a promise of return.

I wondered often what it was to love one's mother the proper way. I assumed that there was admiration and comfort when a person thought of their good and thoughtful mother. Thoughts I had of my own mother were plagued with betrayal, distrust, and a longing for something  _else_ —something  _missing_. Perhaps the reason that I saw my mother so differently was because she was a  _person_  to me. Children don't normally see flaws and pasts and feelings in their parents, but my mother was too human for me to not see it—all her scars and flaws, her confusion and her mistakes were laid out in front of us like a painting. The love I felt for my own children was of a different sort. It took longer for it to grow completely, longer than it took my mother's, but at least it  _was_  complete. I prayed to the divines that my children thought of me differently than I thought of my own mother.

I wondered if they saw only the good grace and honour in me, and even hoped that this was the case. But did I want them to see me that way, which was so…  _inhuman?_  Perhaps seeing one's parent for who they truly are is the truest way to view them. Wasn't it wrong to see an illusion of someone and ignore their loves and lives and memories? Wasn't it better to know the reality offered than to see the falsities of comfort and 'goodness'? Or perhaps these thoughts are just an invention made by my brain to comfort me, and there is simply  **one**  motherly love; a love that had simply never been offered to me. Maybe there are good mothers and bad mothers and whatever kind of mother Elaira was. And maybe it was all the same anyway.

In 4E 216, there was a love between Kust and me, which was beginning to bloom with the birth of the spring flowers. Yet even so, with the flowers grew thoughts of dimples and blue eyes, like weeds in the back of my mind that wouldn't leave no matter how hard I tried to pluck them. Every movement Kust made was followed by a thought of how Lars would have moved differently. Lars had swagger, and walked with confidence and prowess. He walked like he was a king and the earth beneath his feet was his own. Kust was graceful in an entirely different way. He walked proudly too, but rather than conquering, he protected. He did not own the land on which he walked—he was a part of it. Like the leaves that grow from branches and salt that is infused with the sea, his soul was wrapped and tangled with all the life and death and dust around him.

Their laughs were different too, as well as their words and minds. Kust valued honour, peace, and respect, while Lars praised tradition, beauty, and pride. Kust prayed and worshiped, was devoted and serious. Lars had lived and fooled around with confidence and arrogance. Lars and I together made sense; wherever I was weak, he was strong; what he didn't understand, I could explain; what we didn't have, we could build together. With Kust, it was simple too, but rather than fix or complete one another, we wove together. We were stronger hand-in-hand, and the bond which was forever growing and tightening was bright and complex and complete. Kust and I were strong on our own, but we were better together.

And so, when Kust told me he loved me on some Fridas in First Seed and I kissed his cheek and said nothing back, I knew that he could wait for my love. But as always, a small and fleeting thought travelled through my mind and my heart.  _Would Lars have waited?_

* * *

In warmer weather, when the rain ceased, I would bring Vittoria to the graveyard, and she would play or help or watch while Kust told her stories about the wars of Falkreath. I doubted she could even understand him, but she was fascinated nonetheless. Sometimes she would dance around on top of the graves, and I wondered if it was sick of me to let a little girl who didn't understand dance on top of dead people.

The day I realised that the cemetery was not a good place for a little girl, I took her to the shops. I gave her five septims to buy whatever she pleased. She found a clay horse to match the one she had at home. "For Nelkir, Mama," she insisted.

"That's very nice of you to buy something for your brother," I praised. She smiled, and revealed all her shiny teeth. She was already tall for her age, and she had large feet. She would be tall and big-boned, like a true Nordic shield-maiden, rather than like the little thing my mother was. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to get something for yourself, as well?"

"No ma, but can I get Kust something?" she asked.

"Why?" I demanded, not unkindly.

"Because Kust is nice. I like his stories." She blushed then, and I frowned.

"Okay," I said, handing her more money. She took it, but didn't run off yet. "What's wrong, Vittoria?"

She sighed, and shook her head before looking around once more. Soon enough, she returned with a shy smile and an amulet in both her palms.

"What's that, love?" I asked, gesturing to the necklace in her hands.

"It's an amulet, Ma." I peered closer, and made out the strange shape of a bird, and the dark blue gem in the center. I felt my heart thump and my throat dry from the recognition. My hand shot to my chest where mine own amulet had lay for years, but my fingers were only met with skin.  _I gave it to Lars_ , I remembered, feeling suddenly exposed and empty.

"And a very nice one," I whispered. Vittoria must have missed whatever strangeness had overcome me, because she continued to smile.

"Will Kust like it enough to become Papa?" Vittoria asked, smiling proudly. I froze, and for a moment I stood in shock. When my breath returned, I knelt. Our eyes were on level, and her eyes were bright and curious. Mine must have been dark and sad. Shaking, I moved to cover her hands with mine.

I didn't know how to respond to what she had said, but I had to say something.

"It's beautiful, Vittoria," I began. "But… you cannot  _ask_  someone to be your father."

"How come?" I opened my mouth to speak, but it took several times before I could form words.

"It's impolite," is all I eventually managed. "Do you even need a Pa?" I whispered, and I wondered if it was unfair to ask her this.

"Isn't that how it's supposed to be, Mama? Don't  _you_  have one?" she whispered back, frowning.

"No," I said simply. "I haven't for a very long time." Her face softened, and for a moment I believed my three year-old daughter might have understood. With her hands still in mine, Vittoria took a step towards me and laid her curly head against my chest, and finally, it stopped feeling bare.

* * *

The courier ran up to me in town, on a sunny morning in early Second Seed. Kust and I sat on the porch of some old shop, sipping on cold beer while our legs dangled over the edge. Earlier that morning, I had convinced Kust to take a day off. He hadn't been reluctant, like I'd expected; he'd been excited, and seemingly glad we could spend a day just the two of us.

The courier handed me the letter, and I put my tankard down on the deck beside me to take it. "Thank you, sir," I said. It was thin parchment, but had been sealed and stamped, though I didn't recognize the emblem. "Who is it from?"

"Runa, from Riverwood," he informed, before reaching into his bag for his next delivery. "Well, I must be off."

When he was gone, Kust glanced curiously at the stamped wax. "Who's Runa?"

"My oldest friend," I said, running my finger over the wax. "I must have talked about her before."

"Maybe," he said. "Is she the one you went to school with?" I nodded, and moved to open the letter. Kust looked away, taking a gulp of his drink.

_4_ _th_ _of Second Seed, 4E 216_

_Loralei,_

_I know, I know, it's been a while since I've written, but I've been very busy. It took me a while to decide where to stay in Skyrim, and I'm still not sure if I'm staying permanently, but currently, I'm in Riverwood! I had thought to move back to Solitude, but with the war growing, I was afraid the Stormcloaks might lay siege there. Battles are often fought in the countryside, but Riverwood is_ just _close enough to a city that there's a small chance of it being sacked. That is my hope, at least. Plus, the weather is nice in Riverwood, and it's calm._

_I don't know why we never visited while we lived in Whiterun, I could walk there in less than an hour! It's so calm, and like the name promises, it's in a perfect crook between the forest and the river. Sometimes I hear wolves, but the locals have reassured me that they leave the town alone, for the most part. There is an old mine nearby, a few minutes southwest of Riverwood, and I've been inclined to give it a visit. No one really goes down there, so I should expect a plain-old drained mine, but things are never so simple in Skyrim, to the world's misfortune and my personal delight._

_For the moment, I'm staying at the inn, but I've been considering purchasing it completely! My only inn experience is from working at your mother's, but I think it would be a nice investment. Already, I play almost every night, and I think the townspeople are beginning to warm to me._

_Speaking of townspeople, did I mention that Francois is still here? He lives with his adoptive mother at a general goods store called_ The Riverwood Trader _. Her name is Camilla Valerius and is married to an old wood elf called Faendal. Their love story is quite adorable! When Francois and I reacquainted, he told me about his little family. Camilla's brother, Francois' uncle, used to run the store with Camilla, until he was killed in search for a relic—a golden claw—which had been stolen from the store. Apparently, as Francois recalled, your mother was the one who brought home his body and the claw. All this had transpired in the beginning weeks that he had lived with Camilla._

_I dine with the two frequently, and Camilla has told me of all her encounters with your mother. According to her, it was your mother who had brought Faendal and Camilla together. Faendal is a wood elf, who hunts to make his living. He had lived in Riverwood since he and Camilla were teenagers. They were friends for a long time, and eventually, Faendal was smitten with her. When she and her brother opened their shop, she used to go over to his little house and bring him little knick-knacks she'd snuck away from the shop. He would tell her stories about Valenwood, and the old ways of his parents and grandparents and back and back. Camilla says they could talk for hours and days and weeks and years if it were possible._

_Yet even so, one thing stood in the way. This_ thing _, was another man—a lumberjack and bard, called Sven. Sven is a Nord, who takes care of his mother. She is old and mean, but she still lives today. She was one of the first to settle in Riverwood, I heard. Anyway, Sven had grown up alongside Camilla, and had been in love with her for a long time. But, when he noticed she was more and more in love with Faendal, he grew jealous._

_Years and years ago, when your Mother frequented Riverwood, Sven asked her to do him a favour. He had written a false letter in Faendal's name, which said horrible things about Camilla. Your mother took the letter, but straight to Camilla, to reveal what Sven was capable of. She broke off their friendship, and a year later she married Faendal._

_This story isn't all bad for Sven though. He has rekindled his friendship with Camilla, and Faendal and he share drinks. Sven married a woman named Hilde (which is kind of weird, considering that's also his mother's name). He and his wife had seven children, all whom are grown and living their lives in other parts of Skyrim._

_Faendal and Camilla had trouble conceiving, though, considering it's an elf-human relationship. When they received a letter from Constance, encouraging adoption, they took it as a sign and brought Francois home._

_He's had a beautiful childhood, he tells me. He's asked about you, and I told him about your manor and your beautiful children._

_Sometimes I feel like Skyrim is both such a big and such a small place. On one hand, it's possible to run into someone you knew years and years ago, but on the other, our lives are so different from one another. Do you know what I mean?_

_Anyhow, I have to go through all of the stuff I acquired during my travels. Right now, they're all packed tightly in a chest in my cramped room at the inn. I have many gifts for your children. I can hardly believe I've never met them. You've described their faces, and their personalities and I feel like I know them already, but I long to embrace them and spoil them rotten to make you look like a sham cheapo!_

_We must get together soon!_  
Love, love, love,  
Runa

I smiled, and folded up the letter.  _Love, love, love_. I leaned against Kust's shoulder and sighed against him.

"Good news?" he asked, amused.

"Yeah," I cooed. "Good news."

* * *

Runa kept well to her promise, and in the fall, I waved from my balcony. Her carriage was wooden and open-backed. She was drenched from the rain, but she smiled and laughed as she waved back.  _She looks like a madwoman_ , I thought. I must have too, though, still in my nightclothes, with a confused baby at my hip and a small girl tugging at my dress.

When her carriage drew nearer, I grabbed Vittoria's hand and we raced down the stairs. My heart pounded in my ears, and hot tears welled in my eyes. It had been three long years since I'd seen my girl last, and it felt like an elastic being snapped back after years of being pulled and exhausted.

Runa jumped out of the carriage before it stopped moving, and stumbled when she hit the ground. I let go of Vittoria's hand and put down her brother. When I looked back, Runa was charging towards me. I nearly fell from the impact, but I remained standing. We held onto each other and spoke incoherently into each other through our tears.

It almost hurt when we tore apart after a long while. When we did, I looked back at my children, who looked very concerned. I laughed, and wiped my face before touching Runa's arms.

"These are my little creations. Introduce yourself, Vittoria," I said, smiling like a fool. It was chilly, and I was a bad mother for waking my children and bringing them outside on such a cold night, but how could it matter when Runa was here? My heart swelled, and I felt like a fool for not realising how much I'd missed her.

"I'm Vittoria," Vittoria said. "Who are you?" Runa knelt, and placed her hands on my daughter's freckly cheeks.

"Your eyes," Runa said. "They're glowing." Vittoria's face reddened and she hid behind a giggle before placing her own small hands on Runa's face.

"Are you a princess?" she asked. "You look like one."

"Yes," Runa said with a wide smile. Awkwardly, Nelkir waddled towards Runa and Vittoria, placing his hands on both of their cheeks. The three giggled like simpletons, and I was stuck between rolling my eyes and crying at how stupid they all looked. "And you must be Nelkir," Runa bit her lip, the way she never did. "I like that name."

* * *

During Runa's visit, my mother arrived unexpectedly, and the three of us played house until Elaira, then eventually Runa, left. My home seemed empty when they were all gone at the end of Frostfall, but a faraway voice reassured me that they would be back and that even if not, I would be okay without them.

* * *

The winter was harsh, but we all lived on, and before I knew it, my children were two and four. For their birthdays, Kust and I made a rocking-horse with a mane of rope and eyes hallowed from burnt wood. The children had loved it, and would rock on it for hours, but like every other toy, it was discarded after only weeks of use. I loved it though, and it made me wonder at all the things Kust and I might create together.

* * *

Kust bought a boat at the first signs of spring. It was old and rickety—much less expensive than the one I had bought for Lucia and I that hot summer four years ago—but Kust was proud of it. He seemed almost giddy the first time. He sat me down on a hard bench, and he took his seat across from me. Kust rowed and rowed, saying nothing until we were in the middle of the lake. The sun hung low on the horizon, and the sky was purple and grey. "I like your boat," I said, and his giddy smile only grew.

The second time was only two days later, and this time, I had packed us sandwiches. He ate his with a third slice in the middle, and three meats in-between. Mine was ham and cheese. The midday sky was bright blue, and the water was still. "You look pretty," Kust told me. There were crumbs in his beard, but I kissed him anyway.

It rained for a week, but when it finally ceased, he took me to the lake again. This time, it was pitch dark out, and I could see all the stars in the sky. The serpent was bright. "Why so late?" I asked him while he paddled us to a silent alcove. Only the moon, the stars, and a dim lantern were our sources of light.

"I want to know you at all hours," he said. I blushed and snickered.

"You're a sap," I said, pocking his nose. He rolled his eyes and looked past me.

"You love it," he quipped. He met my eyes, and I must have been looking at him funny, because his smile faltered.

"Yeah," I said, and he stopped paddling. He took my hands, and I felt my heart throng as our souls sighed into each other.

"Yeah," he whispered.

Our fourth boat ride took place in the crook of Rain's Hand. The air was humid, and I wanted to jump into the welcoming water, but instead we rode out like normal. I wore a floppy hat, which was long ago outdated, and he wore a thin linen shirt.

"You know," Kust began, looking everywhere but me. "I've been thinking… a lot, actually… about you and me, and the kids."

"And?"

"Well, you know this, but I love you, and I love your kids— _our_  kids." A cool wind blew, but it did nothing to cool the heat that was building as my heart throbbed hard and radically. "And Skyrim, Skyrim's a messed up place. But with you, and our family, it all starts to make sense. All the wars, and the dead people, all the legends and stories—all of it is blurry with insignificance. It's all just indistinct while you and Vittoria and Nelkir are in focus.

"We belong together, all of us. In this town, on this lake, in this world. Our divines, Loralei—the ones me, a monk, and you, a Priestess have given up our souls and lives to—have put us together. And I don't think I can wait any longer for us to be blessed in matrimony." He looked at me now, as serious and fierce as the day I met him. It had begun to rain, soft dripping all around us.  _Those divines think they're funny, with their little signs_. "Will you marry me?"

I kissed him. "Yeah," I said when we broke apart. Kust laughed, and pulled me in an embrace.

"Yeah," he mumbled into my shoulder.

* * *

_12_ _th_ _of Second Seed, 4E 217_

_Loralei,_

_Congratulations on your engagement! Kust is an excellent partner, and has been so good to you and my grandchildren! When do you plan on being wed? Have you begun planning? If you need anything, let me know. I'm always travelling, and if you need me to run an errand or recruit a Priest or a dressmaker, just tell me what to do!_

_-Elaira_

_P.S. We've located Auriel's Bow, and should be off to retrieve it very soon._

* * *

I liked the way they looked together, this family of mine. I liked how Vittoria always seemed to be off doing her own thing, yet she was always connected to Kust and her brother. No matter what she was doing, however far, whether she watched them from her peripherals, or whether she listened closely, she was mindful of them. Even when Vittoria was in another room, I knew she could sense them, that she was reading them from afar.

Kust and Nelkir were almost never apart. Whenever Kust was not at the cemetery or alone with me, he was with Nelkir. They shopped together, ate together, sat together. Sometimes I would pass a room and I would watch them pray together. Kust knelt and Nelkir sat, and Kust would mumble the prayers beneath his breath. Nelkir's eyes were closed, but I knew he followed all of Kust's words, no matter how little he understood.

Together, we all seemed to fit, like this was the way it had always been, like it was the way it always would be. But somehow, in late Second Seed, when Nelkir smiled at Kust and said, " _Pa-pa_ ," my heart dropped. And when I saw Vittoria smile to herself knowingly, I felt it shatter, as if it had hit the hard bottom of my body.

* * *

_1_ _st_ _of Mid Year, 4E 217_

_Dagny,_

_The days here in Falkreath are long and hot. The air is sticky and the water that does fall from the sky is warm. I feel dirty no matter how much I bathe, and I have half a mind to cut off all my hair. It sticks to my back and it's a hassle to pull it all up. It's especially irritating when I must either dig new graves or clean the old ones, and all I want to do is bathe or scratch my back. Speaking of which, my work in the cemetery is tiresome, and we host more and more burial services as the weeks pass._

_The people in Falkreath don't much like to talk about the war, Kust especially. People here remain in ignorance of what is happening—which battles are being fought, what plans have been made, which side is winning. The Stormcloaks might have overrun every city, and I wouldn't have any idea. Parts of me have always wanted to remain passive on this matter, but I fear and I thirst for the news. The only times I learn about the war are from Lars' letters._

_I've tried to convince myself it's for Lars' own sanity, but I think I know that it is just as much for mine own. I wonder if I could ever stop reading his letters. I love Kust, and it has been a million years (if ever) since I have loved Lars, but I don't think I could bear to never hear from him again._

_I'm pleased to hear you are with child! My Lila has knitted a doll for Carlotta, and I've sent forward a rocking horse which Kust and I made. It's ugly and used by our own children, but we loved it. They lost interest within the month it was finished, but I thought since that Lorgren of yours remains as adventurous as ever, he might like a little horse of his own._

_-Loralei_

* * *

At the end of that long and hot summer, my mother returned. She had not sent a letter beforehand, and I was saddling my horse for a ride into town when she trotted up. Her horse was not one I recognized, but hard and swift anyhow. She called to me and dismounted, wearing a wide and nervous grin. She led her horse to our small stable, and once it was tied up, she embraced me. I was surprisingly glad to see her, but there was an undeniable anxious flutter in my bones. My arms felt weak and light when they dropped to my side. Elaira smelt like horse. I wondered for how long she'd ridden.

"It's been a long time," she said. Her hair was long and braided at the back of her head. Loose baby hairs stuck to the skin of her face.

"Yeah," I said. "You're bad at keeping in touch."

"A fatal flaw, I suppose."

"So…" questions ran through my head, whirling uncontrollably.  _Why are you here? Are you staying? Are you leaving? Is it over? Do I want you to leave—to stay?_  I asked nothing, choosing to wait.

"Draw a bath for me, will you? I've ridden all day." I nodded, and felt both relief and tension that my questions went unanswered.

At dinner they were answered.

"It's over, the war between the vampires and the Dawnguard. I'm retreating to Riften and renouncing all that belongs to me: my titles, my properties, anything. I can't give you my titles, Loralei, but all my property minus a few weapons, clothes, armor, and that beautiful horse I brought, now belong to you. I'll stay for a day or two, but I think it's best for me to leave as soon as possible."

I looked at my hands while she spoke.

"Will you not come back for the wedding?" Kust asked. I closed my eyes and held my breath, almost afraid to move.

"I'm afraid I can't wait for such an affair," she informed us. "I had hoped you would be wed by now, but my daughter has been lazy in preparations." She was smiling, though, and it was an obvious attempt at jesting. I wished I did not care, but I had a lump in my throat and I could not feel my heart.

"I'll miss you," I said, finally opening my eyes. I was almost surprised when hot tears poured out.

"Really?" Mother whispered. I looked up at her. She did not cry, like me. I thought for a minute she should apologize, but no—one should never apologize if they're not sorry. Sometimes I forgot how many lessons she had given to me.

"I always miss you," I confessed. She offered me a soft, sad smile. Perhaps in this instance, she knew I loved her, in my way.  _I've always loved you_ , I thought.  _Now she knows for sure_. But I knew better than to confess it out loud.

She left the next afternoon. Beside her beautiful horse, we stood. Runa and Lydia's family had come to say goodbye. They stood some ten feet behind us.

She looked beautiful, my mother. I always thought she looked the most beautiful like this; clad in black armor. It reminded me of a time long ago, when I had wanted so much to be like her—when I had been proud of my green eyes, my strong jaw, and my funny ears. I resisted the urge to pull at them, like my father had before.  _What did that feel like?_  It was the one thing I could not remember.

Elaira squeezed my shoulders. Her gauntlets almost hurt through the sleeves. She was hesitant as she placed a kiss on my forehead. She leaned in so we were cheek to cheek. Her voice was a soft whisper as she said her last words to me; "Loralei, my girl." She said no more, but it was enough that I understood. I closed my eyes as we embraced, and I remembered all which I could never forget. In my head, I could almost hear the strength in her voice.  _And understand that when I am gone, for long, for short or forever, you will always be loved._ Somehow, that made me strong too.


	14. The desires of your heart

By the fall, Runa had made a warm home from the house that had belonged to Francois' father, Faendal, many years ago. It had taken all summer to restore what had been used as a hunting shack and a shed for so long, but by the fall it was ready for us to see. I brought Kust, who had never been to Riverwood, and Lucia, who would turn fourteen next spring and was anxious for a trip. I was both sad, anxious, and guiltily excited to leave my children with Lydia and Erik.

We arrived Fridas evening, tired and achy from the ride. When we walked into the house, a strong, warm and familiar smell wafted around me. It smelled sweet and delicious, and both my eyes and my mouth watered. I was almost too distracted to be surprised when I saw Runa bent over the cooling pot in concentration.

"What are you making?" I said, closing the door once Kust and Lucia were inside.

"Stew," Runa smiled. "Rabbit and pheasant."

I laughed and pulled off my jacket. "You've been all over the world, and you make us stew?" I said, not unkindly. Runa bit her lip, giggling.

"I always liked the smell."

The house was very small, and I was surprised that Runa had settled for such. It was all one large room, but she had all she needed to live: a decent bed, a hearth, and the clutter that made it Runa's. Though the bed was straw and fur, and the ugliest part of the house, Runa assured us that she was working on making a fleece and knit quilt (she promised she was better at it now), and that Francois had been working on a nicer bed frame for her.

The decorations around the small house consisted of eccentric tapestries and shelves covered in small trinkets. A large bookshelf sat against the wall, filled with books old and new, in languages lost and practiced. All her colourful plates and mismatched cutlery were piled up in a cabinet, hidden away. She kept her expensive china on display, on a small cherry wood table by the door. I was surprised to see that it was the only expensive thing in the house, not including the array of musical instruments which were hung on the entirety of the wall above her bed (there were at least seven lutes, a number of flutes, and several instruments which were unfamiliar to me).The rest of her furniture was finely made and sturdy, but unimpressive to look at.

It was strange to see Runa make a home which seemed to suit her so well, and suit her not at all. Still, she seemed very happy.

Our supper was delicious, and our room in the inn was welcoming. There was something comforting to be  _just visiting_  for once—no change, no commitment—just memories to be made and a familiar home to one day return to.

The second day, while Faendal took Kust and Lucia hunting, Runa took me to the Riverwood Trader. It was a two-story building, with the rooms upstairs and the small trading space below. There, I met Francois' mother. She was a swarthy beauty, only a few years younger than my own mother, but just as striking and imposing. Yet there was a certain grace about her, and a certain youthful passion which seemed like it had never really died or lived.

I met with Francois too. Now, he was a man I could hardly recognise. The freckles which I could once only see up close were now prominent. His eyes were different now too: darker. At first glance, the black wells of his eyes looked empty, but I grew to see that they were full, of family, love, childhood, and other. He still had a gap between his two front teeth when he smiled. Though he was a man, different than the man I thought the boy would grow to be, he still looked just as goofy and beautiful and flushed as the day he had kissed me.

He kissed Runa now, though. On the cheek and on the nose, and he held her hand when they were alone. The sweetness of nostalgia and continuity filled the air when they were together. It reminded me of the simplicity and boringness of Skyrim, and the adventure and confidence of childhood.

"He's going to move in soon," Runa confided in me on the third day, when it rained and Lucia was playing with a dog. Kust was napping on the bed not far from us.

"And he knows this?" I jested.

"Obviously," she chuckled, throwing a cushion at me. "I'm nervous."

"Don't be…You've lived with him before," I reminded her. "In Riften."

"Yeah, and he kissed another girl." I scrunched my nose and threw the pillow back at her.

"Are you worried about that?" I started. "Francois being with other girls?"

"Divines, no," she scoffed. "As if he could want another woman." I rolled my eyes.

"Then why are you nervous?" I questioned, leaning against the foot of the bed.

"I guess that 'nervous' isn't the right word... I'm...  _excited._ " She bit her lip and glanced down. Her eyelashes looked like feathers against her pink cheek.

" _Oooh_ , you  _like, like_ him!" She rolled her eyes, but laughed nonetheless, and threw the pillow once more. I caught it this time.

"Oh hush, dear. Mockery does not look cute on you," she said. I only sighed and shrugged.

"Ah well, we can't all look good in everything," I sighed, leaning against Runa's shoulder.

"In that, you are right."

"So," I started. "What do you plan on doing now?"

"I dunno, napping looks pretty great right about now..." She looked up at a snoring Kust, and I jabbed her in the arm.

"Don't be stupid. What do you  _really_  plan on doing?"

"Well, I suppose I'll fall in love some more, buy some chickens, learn how to make a quilt." She sighed. "I dunno, I'm twenty-three... There's some time for not having a plan."

"Life's short in Skyrim... Aren't you sick of not knowing what next?" I asked.

"I  _do_ know what I'm doing next—at least, I know the general idea of what I'm gonna do..." She paused. She had that pained and dreamy look on, the one she had on while she thought. I'd missed that expression. "I mean, Francois is moving in... We've talked about marriage. He wants to adopt some kids... to have some of our own. He says that he will travel with me, that our family could live by the city, by the week, if I wanted to be a travelling bard again."

"That sounds perfect for you, Runa," I said, glancing at Kust.  _What are we doing next?_ I wondered.

"He wants to open a business one day though, so we agreed that we might join a Khajiit caravan until I become pregnant or we decide to adopt. Then we'll find some other way to travel. Or you know... We could always find a place to stay and settle...that's an option"

"Would you stay here?" I asked, glancing around the small house. A fire flickered, cracking and popping.

"No, Riverwood is just until we get married. I don't belong here, not really." My heart dropped.  _Solitude._

"Solitude?" I croaked, wondering why it seemed so dreadful. A vision of the empty, damp streets passed through my mind before I shoved it away. Runa shook her head, and smiled shyly.

"No," she admitted. "Solitude isn't for me. I actually think I'd like to go back to Whiterun... I love that city." I gaped a little, remembering all the years of growing up and playing and making stupid choices. I wondered if Whiterun was where it all  _really_  started… or if it was where it all ended?

"I figured you'd never want to go back there," I admitted. We didn't ever speak much of Whiterun. The rare times we did speak of our childhood, we kept it to snowstorms in a grey city, of songs and dances. I wondered if maybe we should have talked about the growing up and the playing and the stupid choices.

"Why?" she asked accusingly, suddenly rigid against my side. "Nelkir?"

"Well, yeah." I said. She closed her eyes and let out a breath.

"I never did get the chance to stop loving him," she began. "...But that's okay. For a long time, I didn't even want to think about Whiterun and everything that happened. But I left a part of myself in Whiterun, in him." I thought about all the pieces of me that were scattered all around the world—all the different cities and all the different people where they'd gotten caught.

Sad, and hopeful, I looked at Kust, snoring on the bed. I loved him; I hoped I could follow him everywhere. I hoped someday he would go with me to all the corners of Skyrim, to find all the pieces I had dropped along the way. But then I remembered—he was already whole and I was supposed to be too. But really, how could I be when my gravity was in Riften, my soul was in Solitude, and my heart was in Whiterun?

"What about you?" Runa asked, when my eyes began to sting.

"Me? What about me?" I said, hoping my voice was steadier than my heart.

"What are you going to do?" she explained.

"I don't think my choices or plans are even about me anymore." I found myself saying. I thought of my daughter, my son, my fiancé.

"Were they ever?" Runa scoffed. I blinked, shocked at such a question. "Just— make a decision, you know?"

"I make all kinds of decisions," I blurted. "I chose to learn an instrument! I chose to become a Priestess, to have kids, to—"

"You did  _not_  choose to have kids," she said. I pulled farther away from her. "I doubt you even chose to have sex!"

"Are you implying—"

"No! Not rape! Just—in general, it was probably Lars who—And you still read all his letters! I mean, what's that even ab—"

"Enough!" I almost screamed. Runa pursed her lips and checked to see if Kust was still sleeping. There was silence and I was reminded of all the times I had wished for it, those few times I had asserted it. I hoped Runa would say something now—something cruel and true, something sweet and false, but she didn't and it was me who was forced to keep the silence away. "I plan on... Marrying Kust; having more babies—praying." I waited for her response again, but her face remained still. "I plan on... On visiting Mila and the Imperial city so our kids can fall in love and I can see those curtains everyone keeps talking about. I want to... I dunno... I want to read more vampire books and meet a good, non-human-eating vampire who may or may not fall tragically in love with me." Runa laughed now, and somehow I was encouraged to continue. "I wanna climb a mountain and see a giant... I want to dance on bar counters in—in some dirty tavern—I want—I want to go to Sovngarde and see my father, I want to see Hroar and talk to him again—just to hear his voice, answer his questions... I want my Vittoria to be just like my brother, and I want my Nelkir to make his grandfather proud. I want…" I gulped. "I want a lot of things. And...I plan on doing all of them."

Runa looked at me strangely, and I felt sweaty; both nervous and relieved. I wondered to myself when I'd started wanting so many things. It felt good though, and I was proud that I had become this person—this Loralei who could want things—who could be more than a sister, a daughter, a friend, a priestess, or even a mother. Maybe Loralei could be a dirty, sinful  _wanter_  too.

But then Runa asked, "When?" and everything snapped back into focus. Yes, I would marry Kust, and be proud of my children. But all those other things were past the point of dirty; they were silly. I flushed and I tried not to cry. There were no vampires who I could enthrall with my beauty; there was no respect in being a mother by day and a tavern wench by night. No matter how long I journeyed, no giants would cross my path, and the divines knew I was not ever going to say, "Actually, can you make a turn here? There's something I'd like to see." And even those beautiful, magical, swaying Imperial drapes on faraway balconies were—well, they were exactly that: faraway.

"Oh," was all I could respond. And before I could cry, she held me in her arms, and told me of a story about a vampire with a heart of red and gold, and a girl with green eyes.

When Kust woke up later in the afternoon, the three of us went out to find Lucia, who had made friends with Frodnar and Dorthe, two children only a few years Lucia's senior. They were all lounged around Dorthe's father, Alvar's, smithy. It seemed cramped, especially with the large grey dog sprawled between them, but Alvor kept working. He showed us quickly a nice steel sword he was working on. It was dark steel, and sleek and intricate. It reminded me of my mother, so I bought it. "Who is that for?" Kust had asked. I realised then that I would not have a chance to give it to my mother. So, I responded meekly, "Lydia."

We all supped at the inn, with all the families in Riverwood; Frodnar, and his parents, Dorthe and her parents, Sven and his wife (and their remaining children), and Francois and his family.

The inn was run by a large man called Orgnar, He had blue eyes and grey hair that was once dark. He told me he knew my mother once, that she must have been someone great to make Delphine follow her. I didn't ask who Delphine was, but we toasted to her anyway.

We left the next day, which was the last Morndas, and the last day of Heart-Fire. Runa saw us half-way to Falkreath, but stopped when we reached the guardian stones. They were tall mounds of rock which looked much like the stone Runa and I had found long ago. They were placed awkwardly at the turn of the road. To the north, a great barrow loomed, not too far in the distance.

"My mother told me about this place, once," I said while Runa hugged Kust awkwardly. "After… after Helgen, I think. She followed a man out of the city, and he brought her to Riverwood."

"The man's name was Hadvar, if the stories I hear tell truth," Runa replied. She turned to the barrow. "There," she pointed, "that's Bleak Falls Barrow, where your mother found the Golden Claw for Francois' mother."

"Wow… how long ago was that?" Lucia asked, shyly touching the surface of the stone standing in the middle. The form of an old man wielding a staff was carved into it. "Do you think she took a blessing?"

"Maybe," I said. "She never told me though."

"Hmm," Runa started. "The thief, the mage, the warrior… I'd say it's quite obvious, wouldn't you?"

"What, thief?" Kust asked. "It seems a little too cliché for Elaira,"

"It doesn't matter now, I don't think," I said lightly, pulling Runa in for a last hug.

"Give my love to the kids, alright?" Runa said in my shoulder.

"Of course," I said, pulling back. "We'll come again soon, I promise. Good luck with that quilt." Runa chuckled, and stepped back. She waved to us as we mounted our horses and rode all the way back home.

* * *

Old Life fell on a cold day, but Kust and I found ourselves outside again, lighting candles on forgotten graves. It was dark out, and only the small little flickering flames and the lantern Kust had thought to bring with us were our sources of light. Even the stars were invisible, covered by the night clouds.

The grass was frozen, and it crunched under our feet. The entire town was a ghost, empty for the night. There was a large celebration at Lakeview Manor, one I had been responsible for organizing. The entire solemn town of Falkreath found itself in my hall, drinking, and singing, and dancing with my children. Kust and I had snuck away when we could, with a cart full of candles and matches and winter flowers.

"So is this a tradition now," I asked, when Kust and I were closer.

"I'd say so," he answered, spreading the flame from one candle to the other. "I'd rather not stay out here all night, though."

"It is ridiculously cold," I conceded, shivering. I looked around at the field of flickering lights and dead people. "I think they're all lit up now."

The cemetery looked like a field of softly buzzing fireflies. It almost gave the impression of life in such a solemn place. For a moment, I thought of my brother and my father's grave.  _I wonder if someone lights them candles_. Perhaps one day, we could visit their graves and pay our respects. Only, it would be no use. I wondered briefly if any of this was any use.

"Yeah…" Kust blew out the candle in his hand and tossed it in the wagon. "Come on," he said, extending his gloved hand. I took it. "Let's go home. There's a party waiting for us." I chuckled, and together we walked home, my thoughts on Solitude, and the warmth awaiting us.

When we reached the manor, the festivities were still in full flare. Our bard, Llewellyn the Nightingale was joined by Runa this night, and upon our arrival, they were singing some old song about a dragon. Lydia and Erik danced together, rather badly, and their daughter laughed with the servant girl in the corner. By the hearth, the stable boy was sharing a cup of wine with the Redguard warrior, Rayya who I'd recently hired to guard my steadfast. All around, there was the commotion of drunkenness and joy, and even the two solemn brothers from town were singing along to Runa's familiar song.

"Ma! Pa!" Vittoria called, her brother in tow. She looked flushed and happy. Her hair was at her waist now, all curls and mess and I wondered if it was time for a haircut. "How were the dead folks?"

"As happy as they'll ever be," answered Kust, who patted the girl's shoulder, and accepted a flagon from Indara, the farmer wife of Mathies.

"Have you eaten?" I asked the children while we embraced.

"Of course, Ma," answered Vittoria.

"Yeah," answered Nelkir, rather airily.

" _What_  did you eat?" I specified. "Candy and pies don't count."

"Uhhmm," Vittoria said. She thought for a moment, looking around. I sighed and proceeded to get them a proper supper.

Once they'd eaten, I let myself join the celebrations.

Runa took my hands into her clammy ones, and twirled me around like a fool. "Where's Francois?" I asked. She spun me around and smiled.

"He's on the balcony with Faendal, I think." She chuckled. "He doesn't drink."

"Why not?"

"He's a dreadful drunk, and quite the lightweight." I laughed, and slapped her arm and we spun some more.

About an hour later, when I was in my cups, and exhausted from dancing (Runa had only just started, of course), I took a seat next to Narri, a pretty serving wench from Dead Man's Drink. She had long, striking features which looked both Nordic and Elven. Her dress was low-cut and revealing, but looked rather majestic on her.

"It's been quite a while since I've seen you," I noted.

"Yeah, you don't come to the inn so often anymore." She smiled. "I miss that dog of yours, though. Where is he?"

"Oh, who knows? Probably chasing rabbits or something; I just figure he'll turn up eventually," I said. She chuckled and we clanked our glasses together. We shared stories after that—of our childhood, our loves, our friends, and the books we'd read and hours passed in a blur of mead and laughter and song.

At midnight, I kissed Kust, and I kissed my children, and Runa and I jumped and cheered and sang together. It seemed as though I had all I ever  _really_  wanted; more than I could ever need. My heart felt full and light, and though there are dreams that no family, no love, no necessity can erase, I knew that maybe those dreams could be locked up safely in a little drawer, just for now. So, when the courier came at one A.M. with a letter sealed with  _L.B-B_ , I did exactly that.

* * *

4E 218 came with the promise of simple life and a good harvest. I had thought that there would be no interruption in my day-to-day life. I figured perhaps Kust and I might finally get married in the fall, that perhaps soon after I would grow with child again. I had hoped for my daughter's fifth birthday, she would come to Temple with me—that after my son's third, he would learn to read. I had wanted fine weather in the early summer so I could finally visit my dear Dagny, who had just given birth to her third child, her second son, in early Sun's Dawn. I even made arrangements in my mind for the coming wedding of Runa and Francois. The spring started with the promise of all these beautiful things—but like most promises, they were broken.

I did not have a calm and simple spring that year. In fact, much changed. The first change was Lucia's vision, and what had happened next.

A man in strange robes had visited her—he'd frozen the world around them and had spoken to her.

"The Psijic Order," she had told us. "They believe I am one of them… they wish for me to join them."

Lydia had frowned, and Erik had said no. Later, they cried and asked her not to go. Lucia hugged them and promised she'd love them always. When I didn't cry, though my heart felt heavy and bound, she told me that I was the only one who'd ever understood. She told me that I had saved her. Then she whispered so only I could hear: a promise that she would never cease protecting me.

She had disappeared soon after, and the night she left, I'd dreamt of a man in strange robes, who had big ears and a soft heart.

The next change began with a letter from Dagny:

_4th of Second Seed, 4E 218_

_Loralei,_

_It's been such a long war, and even in my position, information is hard to come by. In all honesty, the Empire is very little concerned with the war, but I am a Nord of Skyrim, and the fate of this province is still important to me. I've managed to consult with General Tullius through many letters, and the war seems to no longer be at a standstill._

**_The Stormcloaks are losing!_ **

_They still hold the very edge of the East—Winterhold, Windhelm, and Riften. But the Empire has the entirety of the rest of Skyrim. General Tullius is old now—too old to still be fighting this war—and Elisif is probably too old to bear future kings… but the war ends soon—this summer probably. The Empire plans on laying siege on Windhelm, within the month. Once they have Windhelm, the Stormcloaks will lose their seat of power, and in consequence—Riften and Winterhold. It really is a battle that is long overdue._

_I, and I'm sure the rest of Skyrim, is sick of these decades of conflict. This civil war has been a pitiful game of chess. It's long time for it to end._

**_Long live the Empire!_ **

_Good luck, and good tidings,  
Dagny_

_P.S. Just got official word. The Imperials are laying siege on Windhelm on the fifteenth of Second Seed._

"I want to go," I said as Kust read the letter. He frowned.

"To do  _what?_  You can't just join the army for one battle! Plus there's not even enough time to train you," Kust reasoned.

"No, obviously I'm not going to fight."

"So what then? You're going to  _watch_?" He scoffed. I pursed my lips and my face grew hot.

"Don't antagonize me, Kust," I said. "I'm obviously going to go as a healer. We're laying siege, so there are only going to be medic tents around the outskirts of the city… but they'll also need healers on the battlefield, where they can act quickly."

"Why do you even want to go?" he asked, leaning forward. "I thought you were against this war."

"That's why I want to help end it," I explained. When Kust said nothing, I felt myself falter. I had thought he might be proud of me, in some strange way. I'd thought he might think I was brave and strong, that he might think I had a chance to change something—to actually do something. "Don't you think that's—"

"Brave?" he scoffed, turning to me. "No, it's unnecessary. They don't need you Loralei… the  _kids_  need you— _I_  need you."

"But I'm not abandoning you, I—"

"You are, though. You're putting yourself in unnecessary danger. For what? To live out some stupid fantasy where you're your mother and can save the day?"

"I—"

"You're not going," he swore.

But like most promises, it was broken.

* * *

By the time I arrived in Windhelm, the battle was already raging. In the mass of confusion, even in the camps outside the walled city, I found someone who could tell me what to do and where to go. He was a tall Imperial man with a soft, unbefitting voice. He told me I'd need to get some supplies from the healer's tent. There, they gave me mage robes, an apothecary sack, a dagger, and other supplies which would come in use.

The robes felt strange. They almost tickled, and I could feel the magic jump from the fabric into my bones, my skin, my blood, and back again. Somehow, it made me feel stronger, the way I should have felt when I'd told Kust.

I was terrified as I made my way through Windhelm to the section which I was assigned. I had to avoid archers, and I was close to being caught between two swords. I had almost regretted coming, I had almost apologised to Kust in my mind. I'd almost believed he was right. But then I remembered,  _don't apologise_ , and that made me stronger the way he couldn't.

Finally, when I got to my section in what was titled 'The Grey Quarter', I saw that it was already a mess of dead bodies and limbs strewn everywhere. For what was a long moment, I was at a standstill, unsure of what to do, how to think, what to feel. People fought all around me, and I had an unyielding urge to stick against the wall, to become as small and invisible as I had once thought I was.

But there was a cry, coming from behind me. And when I spun, there was a greatsword coming down on my neck. I wondered for a minute if it would end there. If after such a long, perilous childhood of death and flowers and neglect, I would die then, like  _that_ , like  _nothing_. I wondered if before I had even saved anyone, I would be some sort of war hero. Maybe that's all I wanted though, was to be recognised— _seen_ , just once. Or maybe even that want would go unfulfilled. Maybe if I died then, I would just be another nameless person, laying blue and bloody with a head rolling severed some feet away, dead in the Grey Quarter.

But I didn't die then. Perhaps it was a promise that had been kept, a promise from a little girl, or maybe it was just  _me_ , who managed to pull everything together inside of her, just one time, just when it was necessary. The sword crashed down, but not into my neck. I shattered against the surface of some invisible force around me, some sort of protection against my foes.

I almost cried then, because of my stupid, dumb luck which was somehow still muddled in my misfortune. I would have cried, but there was no time, and it was then that my standstill came to an end.

The ward dissipated, and my attacker, left weaponless, reached for another one of his arms. As fast as I could manage, I grabbed my dagger and I stuck it in his neck, pulling quickly away before he spent his last breath killing me in return. I watched blood spill from his neck. I watched the shock in his face and his hands move to his neck, blood pouring over his fingers.

Part of me wanted to know his name. I wanted him in that long list of names which I still kept as my prayer. I couldn't watch him die though, so I turned away and I convinced myself that the reason was that there was no time—no time, I had to keep moving. But I knew, deep in my merciful heart that I should have watched, that the only reason I couldn't was because I was not brave; I was not strong at all.

 _There's no time for thought_ , I reminded myself as an Imperial soldier fell and his attacker turned to another. I ran to him, trying not to trip over limbs and organs and dead people. I knelt beside him, crashing to my knees. A painful sting shot up my thigh but I ignored it.

"Where?" I asked, frantically. It was a croak, a noise from the back of my dried up throat, but he seemed to understand.

"Everywhere," he groaned. His voice was just a whisper, something sad, pitiful. Again, I almost cried. Instead, I reached for Kynareth, and magic, and all the health in the world. When it seemed like the wound was healing, I gave him a potion and a bandage, and he was off to fight again.

 _What's your name?_  I wanted to ask. But it seemed like in these times, for these Nord men and women, at war, in battle, in a sea of limbs and organs, blood and death; names were nothing but a sadness which could only aid in ripping them apart.

I let a small sob escape my throat as I turned, looking for anyone else who had fallen. As I was about to take a step, there was a loud, hoarse cry, and the sound of steel pulling out of a body. I turned to the noise, and saw a woman, her helm strewn aside, clutching her midsection, where her armor had been torn open. She fell to her knees with another whimper, and there was another cry, this time of a man. I only watched in stupid shock as he ran towards her attacker, and sliced open his throat before kneeling by the wounded soldier's side.

The man turned to me now, and even from the distance I could see the desperation in his unforgettable, expensive, blue eyes. " _HELP!_ " he screamed at me. "What are you doing?! Healer!" I blinked back more tears, and found enough strength and adrenaline to run to them.

The girl had dark hair, which was braided back. Her eyes were dark, and her nose—her nose was perfect. I remembered a midnight so long, and not so long ago, when I had been envious of that long and pointed nose. "Lo-Loralei," Mila breathed.

"Mila," I said, blinking back tears some more. "Don't worry, I'll fix you." I moved to place my hands on her bloody middle, but she grabbed my arm.

"No… don't it's okay." She breathed shallowly. I shook my head, frantically. And Lars, who I could still not look at, pushed her hand away.

"Shut up, Mila!" he said, urging me to go on.

"No, no," she pleaded, but I didn't listen. "I want to die like this…"

"There's no time, shut up!" Lars said, looking past us for oncoming danger. His voice was hoarse, tired, young. My hands were wet with blood as I reached both through the armor into Mila, and through my skin into Kynareth, so I could join the two together.

Mila cried when it was over, but she swallowed the potion nonetheless. Lars helped her up, and grabbed her helm.

"Put it on," he ordered her. She did so blankly, and I looked at Lars then. He took me in for a moment. His jaw was clenched, his face red from blood and blood.

"Why are you here, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm a healer," I almost whispered. I found myself doubting why I had come, not for the first time.  _Who could want me now?_ I wondered. I was a murderer. Was I just like my mother now? Was Kust right—was that what I had really wanted? I felt bile and tears rise, but I blinked and I swallowed, and I refused to agree.

Lars looked like there was a knot twisting inside of him, tightening,  _burning._ I wondered what he was feeling. Battle fury, perhaps: the bloody drunkenness of steel in one's hands and the song of metal on metal screeching in the ash-filled, bloody air. Or maybe he was sad and disgusted, like I was. Maybe he swallowed vomit and tears, and he very much wanted to go home too—but also wanted to finish, to win, to  _win._ That was hard for me to believe, though. He had been in more battles than I could count. Limbs and blood and gore were the common landscape that he knew and understood. The battleground was his balcony, his homestead, his prison. I wondered how long it had taken for him to stop crying and stop being sick at the sight of death and failure.  _Is that bravery?_

More likely he was angry with me, for disrupting this madness which came with the promise of future peace. He was angry because I was just another who went off to war.

"Stop,  _leave_ ," he pleaded. There was a moment of nothing before I turned around and another cried out not far. I ran towards the cry, and left Lars unanswered. My heart soared and deflated and so sadly, I wondered if anything, or anyone in this world could really make me strong. I wondered so sadly, so softly, if it was ever possible to make me brave.

I couldn't ignore all the pieces of once-been people all around me, even as I forced myself to fix my gaze, my concentration, and my focus on the man in red and brown who had fallen and screamed. It seemed as though all the dead people in the Grey Quarter had been replaced, since already just as many duelists had appeared to fight on top of the corpses. I had never smelled so much blood and iron and rot. It took everything I had inside of me not to cry and vomit, but somehow through the clashing of swords and the storm of mad men, I made it to the fallen Imperial without doing either.

Before long, that man was healed and fighting and dead. Then not long after that, another fell, and another returned to battle, and another died. Some of the next soldiers did not even have the chance to return to battle, and I had to say a prayer for them. Some lived long enough that I did not see them die, but some others were killed right before my eyes.

It seemed like a million years counted in bodies before the Grey Quarter seemed empty of soldiers and massed with bodies. I did vomit, when I was alone save the few who lay not dead but twisting, shaking, crying, dying.

I did not know what to do next until I heard the great call of a man. "Move up, to the Palace of Kings!"

I ran out of the quarter, and I saw soldiers—Imperial soldiers, running north. I followed, running to join with another in mage robes. "Have—have we won?" I asked the healer as we ran. Her hands, like mine, were covered in blood and filth. I couldn't see her face, and I could not help but wonder if she was like me: lost and disgusted, or like Lars: war-hardened and furious.

"We—we've won," she gulped. When the crowd of soldiers stopped, she began to push her way through the crowd. I followed. We reached the front before long, and I saw that we were surrounding some Imperial men and one final Stormcloak kneeling before them. The old Imperial must have said something then. What he said, I didn't hear, or I can't remember. He brought his greatsword up and when he brought it down there was blood and ooze and the Stormcloak's head rolled before his falling body. A song buzzed loudly in my head as the cheers roared around me and I let go of that bile and those tears which I had fought so hard to hold back.

_Oh! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!_

* * *

Later the soldiers returned to the camps to celebrate. I would have stayed there for longer, but as the citizens began to emerge from the safety of their homes, I felt a hand wrap around my arm. I turned to find its owner. Lars' face was covered in blood and dirt, but altogether, he looked intact. "C'mon, let's get out of here," he said. He looked tired, and scared. I nodded, and let him lead me through the city. We talked very little, but when we did, he spoke softly, and kindly.

When we got to the tents posted outside the city, Lars was called to celebrate with his comrades. He looked reluctant to leave me, but I was called to the medical tent, and he let go of my arm.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

"Go home, I guess," I said, lacing my fingers together. "I'm tired." He nodded, and began to go, but my breath hitched, and my heart thumped and I almost reached out and grabbed him. Instead, I found myself calling, "What about you? Where are you going now?"

"Home," he said. "Whiterun… where else?" Perhaps he thought I would give him an answer, perhaps he thought I had come here to find him, to save him, to bring him home and give him love after the long war. But that's not why I came, and those were not things I could offer, not now anyway. Maybe he wanted it though, maybe he hoped for it. Maybe I did too. But there were dying soldiers I needed to heal, a man I needed to marry, and bastards I needed to return to.

Still, my heart beat hard and rapidly, despite my knowing it should not. For a moment, I hoped vainly that it was the same heartbeat rhythm of a warrior in the fury of war. But I knew that it was not. It was the heartbeat of a rich girl who had found a simple love in a complex boy. It was the heartbeat of a girl who was no longer allowed to exist.

I swallowed, and I nodded and I went to save soldiers, then I went home, wondering what had changed, wondering if finally I was brave.

* * *

I returned home the afternoon of the 17th of Second Seed. My children greeted me with a hug and a kiss. Kust kissed me too, but my heart fluttered nervously. He did not smile, or look relieved. His face was devoid of emotion.

"Let's take a boat ride," he said. I nodded, and followed him out to the little dock, taking his hand while I climbed in. I still wore my riding clothes, and felt grimy. I doubted I would ever feel clean again anyway, so I ignored it.

Kust paddled us out into the middle of the lake, and neither of us said anything, when he put up the paddle, and let us float, I broke the silence.

"How were the kids?"

"Fine," he said. "They missed you, naturally." I nodded, and a waft of sadness drifted through me. It felt strange, to be home. I had been in Windhelm for so little time, and on the road for the majority of the time I'd been away, but somehow I felt as though I'd left part of myself there.  _I'm a murderer_ , I remembered.  _Can Kust still love a murderer?_  I felt as though I should tell him, as if I didn't, it would be a secret that would weigh me down and kill me in return. But I was frightened. What if he stood in that graveyard and wondered if that man I stabbed would be buried there soon. What if he asked me that man's name, or the colour of his eyes? What if he knew that it was too easy for me, that it should have been harder, that I should have died instead of killed?  _Is that bravery?_  "I missed you," he said finally. I blinked, my heart stopped. Maybe he did love me still.

"I—I have something to tell you," I said. I gulped, and looked down at the water. The lake was still, and the surface looked like a smooth plane of molten silver. "I killed someone."

"That tends to happen during battles," said Kust, reaching in to run his fingers through the water. The surface rippled, ever so gently, but I still thought it was a shame.

"But," I said, watching as the water dripped from his fingers. "Doesn't that make me a murderer?"

"I guess so," he said. I looked at him now.

"My mom was a murderer," I said simply. "Do you think she ever felt like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like… dirty I guess. I feel like a thief…" I confessed.

"She was that too," he said, smiling faintly. It was a joke, I knew, but I didn't laugh.

"It's like I stole his life… it wasn't mine to take. I didn't even know his name; I didn't hear his last words."

"I guess it's better that you feel like this. Soldiers kill and don't feel it, at least you're not like that," he said. He seemed so relaxed, but it only made me more anxious.

"But, how can you even look at me the same way? How can my—"

"I don't… look at you the same way. I can't," he explained. I felt my heart drop; I felt it crash to the floor. My throat hitched, and I couldn't help but let a sob escape me. He looked at me, straight in the eyes, and I wondered why any of this was fair.

"Do you still love me?" I had to ask, my hands knotted together. They were sweaty, and my whole body radiated in heat.

"It's not like that," he said, his eyes still boring into me. "Things are just different now."

"It's been three days," I reasoned. "It's not so different. I'm still me, I'm still Loralei."

"Stop it." He sighed. I wondered why this seemed like it was nothing for him. Wasn't he supposed to be angry or sad or frustrated? Wasn't he supposed to want me, to fight for us?

"What does this mean?" I asked, even though I was frightened of the truth I already knew. Perhaps I just wanted to hear him say it, so it was  _his_  fault,  _his_  doing,  _him_.

But he didn't say anything, because both of us knew it was my fault, my doing,  _me_.

I cried then, I sobbed, and I screamed, and I begged, but because I am proud and rich and broken, and I could remembered all the things that had crushed me to pieces, I didn't apologise.

* * *

At first I had felt alone, but then my bastard boy brought me a flower, and my bastard girl braided my hair, and finally my lovely Runa made me stew, and then I was okay again. I was a murderer, I was alone, and I was broken, but somehow I was okay.

The rest of the fall passed with the peace that had been promised in the New Year, and on the last day of the year, while the graves and dead people were left in the dark, I watched Runa marry a boy she loved, so simply. And at midnight, with a flush in our cheeks and a great love in our hearts, Runa and I danced, singing that strange song of death and war and stupid boys, that song which had always, and would always, hold our great love together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's so weird to think there is only one chapter left. There's a strange relief and sadness to finishing this story. Please tell me what you think or just wish me good luck or whatever. All you support and critique over the past year and a bit (or less) has been my drive. Thanks for r&r. This chapter is around 7.5k.
> 
> P.S. Happy Easter or whatever other holidays or things worth celebrating :))


	15. The bright morning star

It was spring when Runa and Francois moved to Whiterun. Runa had decided her days of travelling were done, and Belethor, of Belethor's General Goods, had died. He had left the place to his apprentice, but that boy decided to sell it and work a farm instead. Francois had bought it from him, and with that, the decision to move to Whiterun was final. For the time being, Runa and Francois would live above the shop, in the living quarters, just until they became pregnant, or there was a well-priced house in Whiterun that went on the market.

I had thought to offer them Breezehome, but I'd felt a twinge of pain in my chest, and the feeling of nausea and dread, which reassured me that it was not something I was willing to part with. I did, however, offer to help the newlyweds with their relocation. Thus, in early Rain's Hand, I found myself back in Whiterun.

It had been many years since the last time I'd stepped foot in Whiterun, but what I'd come to learn was that simplicity is timeless and boring is consistent. So when I walked through the groaning gates of Whiterun, I was welcomed with all the familiarity it had never failed to offer. Only once had these elements of Whiterun failed me, and I felt myself stiffen when I remembered that silence it had screamed when I'd left.

But now, many years later, the smell of people and wind and food lingered in the air, and all the noises of Whiterun—the faint beat of the anvil which ran from both ends of the city; the buzz of laughter and light conversation from the market stalls, and the children playing tag nearby—they were the same as the days I had lived there.

There was not much to be done, since their new home had come with all the furniture and appliances they might need. Therefore, there were only trinkets and clothes, linens and precious items which needed to be transferred into their new place.

"Where do you want these?" I asked, shifting the heavy wooden box in my arms.

"What's in it?" Francois called, setting down another crate with a grunt.

"I'm not sure, there's a lid," I responded, shifting once again.

"Just set it by the stairs," Runa instructed from above. "Is that all of it?"

"There's a few more boxes by the gates," I said, dreading the thought of lugging them all the way again. Already my arms and shoulders ached, my muscles strained and my stamina drained.

"You look beat, Loralei," Francois said with a concerned frown.

"Ah, she's fine," said Runa. "Pain is nothing."

I shot her a glare and she stuck her tongue out at me.  _How childish_.

"Obviously though," began Runa, sighing theatrically; "you can take a break. Francois and I can do the rest." I sent them both a thankful glance before moving to sit on a chair nearby.

"No, no," Runa said, descending. "You'll get in our way here. Go to the inn, it's like a second away."

"You just like being difficult," I scolded, but felt no resentment as I retreated into the bright sunny afternoon.

The inn was mostly empty, since most folk were busy doing their day's work. It was hours until the inn would start to fill up. Though I knew this, it was a little disappointing. The room was bright, and through the glass panes of windows and skylights placed sporadically around the inn, the sun shone, dust floating in its midst. It seemed like a haze; some sort of place one might find in a dream or a novel. The image was there; of wood floors and sunlight, of a burnt out fire and the clunk of shoes hitting the floor. But overall, the details were diluted, foggy.

I reached for the once-been details that had once been clear. The sounds I remembered first: like the rough scratch of the broom brushing against the ground. Tankards used to clink and spill and fall all around the room, to the rough beat of a lute or many voices or other. Throughout the inn, people spoke softly as well as obnoxiously, and the music of voices would become both imposing and lulling. Next, the scent: the inn smelled like dust and air now, whereas in my memories it had smelled of stew and sweat and ale.

Walking forward, I felt like I was visiting a ruin—abandoned, empty, somehow clean from neglect.

I knew that the inn was still active, that at night the citizens of Whiterun did come and sing and sweat, but the anti-climax of stepping into such an empty once-been home felt like a weight on my heart.  _No,_  I thought,  _not anti-climax…_ conclusion,  _one I am not ready to face_.  _Is this some sort of closure?_ The thought tasted bitter.

"Is someone here? I'll be out there in a minute!" a voice called, startling me. I turned towards it just on time to see a woman, swollen with child, emerging—or rather,  _waddling_ —from the kitchen. Her face brightened when she saw me. I recognised Ysolda from just foggy memory, but smiled back brightly anyway.

"Ysolda!" I cried, and strode over to hug her. It was awkward and somewhat crooked, but the affection was there. "You're pregnant," I noted.

"Yes, with the second," she informed, placing a gentle hand on her belly. "Can I get you anything—a drink—some soup?"

"No, no," I replied. "Just sit down; I'll get us some milk."

"I'd rather wine," she said.

"It's bad for the child," I said, helping her onto the bench.

"That's just Bosmer talk."

"Better safe than sorry." I brought over two tankards of milk and took my seat next to her. "So tell me what you've been doing these past seven years. You were off following some caravan or another when I left."

"Ah, yes. Well I came back shortly afterward at the request of your mother. I'd gotten enough experience and training anyway, and had made enough gold to last three lifetimes. I'd also planned to either sell my part of the inn, or try and buy it off you or your mother. Anyhow, I did neither and came back.

"Soon enough, I got married and had a kid and got pregnant again, as you can see. It's a lovely life, and I plan to keep it like this for a while, but I miss travelling. Once my kids are older, I'd like to show them Tamriel and all the lessons that could be learned around it. I'm babbling now, but I'm sure you get what I'm saying.

"What about you?" she asked. "What's your story?"  _I have no story,_ I almost said.

"I have two children. My daughter is six and my son is four now. We've been living in Falkreath, at the manor my father built. I worked as a priestess until recently, but now I'm not sure what I'll do."

"Well, what brought you to Whiterun?" she asked, taking a sip of milk.

"Runa, actually. She's my friend of many years and she and her husband decided to move here. I was just helping them set up before," I explained.

"Hm," Ysolda said, pensive. "Maybe you should stay?" I blinked.

"Pardon?" I felt my temperature rise, and the urge to jump up and down or run away.

"Well if you're no longer working at Falkreath, why not move back here? The temple is still open, and your divines know I could use help around here. I'm sure you know the exhaustion of caring for an infant and a toddler."

"It's just that I—I—I'd never... considered it."

I had missed Whiterun for a long time. Riften would always be my home, the city where I'd always turn to look back and remember. It was my home in the sense that no other place could ever make me feel safe the same way. That place was bees and friendships and neglect. But where Riften was my lost home, Whiterun was the place where I was changed, molded and created. It was the city where everything became real. It was pure white and red, it was angst and love and bastards. It was where I found Kynareth and the health and the winds which she offered me. Whiterun was the place where I'd first seen death and first made life.

How could I not miss it? Here I had loved and watched love fall apart all around me. I had had a sister, a mother, a father, a friend, a lover, and a story. It was a boring story—novelesque and romantic; tragedy mixed with childhood—but it was mine: a story which I might have been proud to tell.

Whiterun had been all these things, but what was it now? I had thought it could only be this childhood and these memories, but could it be my future, my present?  _Maybe._ And that thought gave me a rush like no other. I smiled widely and wildly like never before, and I took Ysolda's warm and sweaty palms.

"So..." She smiled.

" _Whiterun_... that sounds  _so_  right."

* * *

Runa jumped and clapped and cried when I told her. And it was just the next day that I went back to Falkreath to bring my children.

"All my girls are leaving me," Lydia said. Perhaps I was resentful and vindictive, but I only said goodbye, remembering when she had left me.

"I'll keep your homestead as always, Loralei," Adelaissa promised. I kissed her and said thank you, and told her she'd see us next summer.

"What's there for you?" Kust asked, when I'd found the courage to see him. I didn't kiss him. Instead I said, "Everything," and I told him he could visit the children whenever. He smiled sadly and said he would. "We'll visit next summer," I promised, and then he did kiss me. It made me sad and broken, and part of me wanted to stay. But when he pulled back, I realised it was a goodbye kiss, and I walked away sullenly, holding onto just another conclusion I didn't want.

"Where's that?" Vittoria asked, her legs dangling into the water.

"Northeast of here; where Auntie Runa lives now." Her face brightened at that and she clapped her hands.

"Auntie Runa?" was what Nelkir responded, smiling. I nodded and the three of us ate taffy while we watched the sun set.

* * *

It took another week to restore Breezehome, and another few days to move all our stuff, but by the first days of summer, the three of us were happily settled in Whiterun, in a little home which finally felt like it belonged to me.

When I'd first walked through the gates of Whiterun, Runa had run to me, crying and laughing. "Reunited for real now," she'd sung. I'd cried again too, and around us, citizens had turned to watch our loud and obnoxious commotion. Adrianne, from the blacksmith, all sweaty and sooty had called over to us, "Welcome back!"

Old lady Olava the Feeble, who had told me my future,  _my present, I guess,_ had waved from her bench.

"Home at last!" Had called another.

"The Thane's daughter has returned!"

"The  _Dragonborn's_ daughter!"

" _Loralei_!"

Soon enough, the whole city, who had aged without my permission, had encircled me, cheered for me, hugged my children, kissed me, pet my dog. I'd felt loved and welcomed, and despite thoughts of grey skies, I'd finally felt  _home._

It had been almost an hour later when we reached Breezehome, even though it was so close to the city gates.

Even the plain and tiny house had encased me with love and warmth, and I felt whole. "It's small," Vittoria had noted, not begrudged. Bran had barked and ran around excitedly. Laughing, Nelkir had chased him.

Many years ago, I had envisioned watching Lucia playing in the road outside in the day, making stew with Runa in the evening, and making love with Lars in the night. But now that seemed so far away. It seemed like a different time, when my grasp at life, at people, at myself, and at all my belongings had been so weak.

Still, I blushed when I looked at the floor, and I couldn't help but remember papers and letters and notes which did not belong to me, when I looked at the long wooden table. Even the tiny room behind the stairs reminded me of suffocation and of  _I love you_ s and of Belrand who had brought me tea and had left the door open. All around me were pieces of the growing up which had occurred—all the illness and the early morning winter wake up calls; all the could-be's and should-be's and wants. And all around me—the memories and the books, the wood and the floors—it all belonged to me. Mother had signed a sheet and it had felt like nothing, but I had lived a life here, and right then, it felt like everything.

* * *

The evening of our arrival, Ysolda, still awaiting the arrival of her son, threw a large celebration for our welcome. A large cake that Runa had made was the main attraction. She also wrote me a song, and when she sang it I didn't cry, because it wasn't sad or happy, it was fun and light and somehow that made my heart soar. My children danced and made friends with the citizens, and I laughed and drank and reunited with those I had known, conversed with those I didn't, and I waited for that boy who had once sat by the door, waiting for ale and sweetrolls.

I hadn't thought too much about him, but I had gotten word from someone that Lars had returned with Mila last fall, after the war. She was never seen much, but lived in the House of Clan Battle-Born, with Lars and his mother. His grandparents were dead, and his father was temporarily in Solitude, acting for the High Queen Elisif (the moot would meet at the end of the year). Lars was seen, but rumour had it that he was a serious man now, with scars and stories. That saddened me. I remembered the boy who loved himself and rich things and rich girls. I remembered his naive heart that was so full and light and simplicity. I wondered if he still played chess, if he and Mila still held hands in that childish, lovish kind of way. I prayed to my divines that he would recover and become loving and rich, unforgiving and stubborn once again. But was that possible? Was it even good? Once I had been passive and thoughtful, neglected and neglectful. But now I was some altered, changed, different version of that, and I was better.

Maybe it was different for both of us though. Lars had had war. I had just had children.

No matter if he was changed now though, I still looked for him. I waited for him that night of the celebration, and in the days proceeding, I looked for him in the corners of the city, to see if he conversed or to see if he kissed or just to see  _him_. But I didn't find him, and I hoped it wasn't because he was avoiding me. I was not a fool to think we could live together, but I had hoped that we could live amongst each other.

For the first week, I'd hoped for a letter, but Lars hadn't written one since before end of the war. I'd become so desperate though, that I had almost written one to him. Instead, I sent it to Dagny, and I had lost all my courage then. I'd passed the House of Clan Battle-Born once; I had even paused and held my breath. There was no movement, though; nothing of particular interest but a big house where I knew a wall of lutes hung, and the people who'd told me to leave had once lived.

* * *

It took me that long to finally step foot in the Temple of Kynareth. When the door shut behind me and I entered, I felt my self-snap back into place. My bones had shifted slowly after so many years away, and my soul had begun to thin. But with the walls of Life and Wind surrounding me, I felt it all shift like a soft sigh that meant  _home sweet home_.

Danica was older, maybe even frailer. She said nothing as a warm smile stretched across her face, and she led me to the centre of the temple. Jenssen joined us thereafter, and the three of us knelt. We joined our hands and prayed. The winds, the waters, all the fires and all the earth around us joined, and our spirits soared.

I wonder now what I prayed for. I can't remember if it was for serious Lars or for broken Mila—if even it was for my mother who I tried not to miss. Perhaps I prayed for myself, and for all the good and bad parts of my life to finally join together and create equilibrium. Maybe I didn't pray for anything. Maybe I just thanked Kynareth and all the rest for the neglect, the heartbreak, the nothing, and the love, the friendships, and for all that made me.

Danica and Jenssen kissed me on the cheek and left eventually, but I stayed. Alone in the temple, I felt safe, surrounded by grace and wind. And even when my knees began to ache, I stayed, and touched my chest, where my amulet once lay.

I knelt there, for hours and hours until a voice broke my prayer.

"Loralei," Lars called. At the sound of his voice, my eyes snapped open, and I looked behind me.

"Lars," I said, surprisingly calm. I stood and dropped my hands. I glanced to his, and I saw that he held something.

"I, um, I brought this for you. It belongs to you, I thought you should have it back," he explained, holding it out to me. It was my amulet. I took a step towards him, and swore I saw him flinch. I ignored it though, and took the amulet from his hand.

My heart thumped and my skin burned, but somehow I managed to speak. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry I didn't come to your welcome back party," he blurted, blushing too. He seemed broader, stronger. When I'd seen Lars last, I had not had the time to notice what war and growing up had done to him.

"It's okay," I said. "I didn't expect you to."

"Oh," he said, looking to the floor. "So you came with your family… your daughter… and  _son_." My heart stopped, and I felt not like something shattered, but the after part, trying to catch all the pieces, grasping helplessly as they slipped through fingers.

"Yes, they're here. We're in Breezehome, where I—"

"Yeah, I know. Your son, he—"

"Nelkir." There was a moment of extreme confusion that passed over Lars' face and I blushed, realizing my mistake. "That's his  _name_ ," I corrected. Lars laughed a little, and I smiled.

"But his father—who's his father?"

"You're his father by blood," I said, remembering all the times Nelkir had called Kust papa. I wondered who I was betraying. Lars' face contorted into something almost angry, almost sad, almost understanding.

"And you didn't tell me?" I shot my eyes to the ground, and folded my hands around the amulet. The last time we'd stood in this temple, alone together, he had blamed me and I had not apologized.  _Do I apologize now?_  "It's been  _four years_. I've written you, and you never wrote back. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I—"

"Was there someone else? You said 'father by blood'. Were you with another man?" he demanded, his voice straining.

"Yes, a good man," I said.

"Did you… did—" He blushed now, reddened and frowning. It took me a moment to realise what he was asking.

"Oh. No, we didn't have—"

"That's not what I mean. Did you  _love_ him? Did our children love him?" I paused, wondering if the truth was necessary. Would Lars be hurt? Had  _he_ loved another? Had he lain with another woman? Did I care? It was strange how I had never fathomed the possibility that he might be engaged or in love, or that he might even have bastards other than mine. Five years was a long time, seven even longer.

"Yes," I finally confessed. "We all loved him. We were going to be married."

He looked up, into my eyes suddenly. They seemed young and hopeful and I wondered why.

" _Were?_  Why didn't you go through with it?" He stepped forward. He seemed impossibly tall. "Why did you come back here?"

"It wasn't for you," I blurted, and I almost felt him falter, shatter even. Maybe this was the breaking part, before the panic. He clenched his fist, and took a step back, but gently, I grabbed his arm, my amulet clattering to the ground in the process. He watched it fall before looking back at me. "But never mind all that, okay?"

"I can't just… not think about it," he whispered.

"One day we'll talk… about the last seven years, and the war, and the people we've loved, okay? Just, not yet."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, it just doesn't seem like the right time," I confessed. He seemed to sigh.

"Okay, I'll wait," he promised. I blinked, letting go of his arm.

"You will?"

"Of course," he said, smiling. I almost cried at the sight of his cheeky little dimple, the happy and almost arrogant, almost greedy eyes. "Do I get to meet our kids?"

I nodded, and picked up my amulet. We walked together back to Breezehome, where we found two mischievous children, and a dog sleeping lazily by the fire.  _Is this home?_

* * *

That summer was a dream. Runa and I saw each other every day; in the morning while we ran errands, in afternoon for tea at Dragonsreach with our families and Lars Battle-Born. In the evenings, she helped cook and she sang at the inn and I watched and served. Some nights I would join her and pick up my lute, and we would make song again, but mostly I preferred to do the other work.

When we weren't together, I was at the temple, tending to the sick citizens and the wounded travelers. Once in a while an injured guard or military man would come and seek healing, but that summer, no soldiers fighting any war came for our services.

I wrote a lot too, and received many letters from Dagny and Evesa. Dagny was pregnant again, and forever happy with her husband, her wealth, and their fertility. Evesa, who would turn seventeen in Last Seed, was on her way to the Imperial City, ready to learn and study and teach. Her sister was getting older too, and had found a nice boy from a good family that she might marry someday.

I saw Lars frequently; at tea with the Jarl and Runa, and the times in between. Sometimes he would not come for me, but for Nelkir and Vittoria. They were fond of him, but he didn't tell them of their parentage. I think Vittoria knew though. Perhaps it was strange and naive intuition. Perhaps Runa told her.

There were times when Lars and I found ourselves alone too. We went riding frequently, until Bam Bam died and then Birdie followed. We all cried, Runa the hardest, and we buried them near the river. After that, I couldn't find it in me to find another horse to buy or even ride. We took walks instead, around Battle-Born farm or around the Wind District.

Once, I asked Lars if we were friends now, wondering if that was what I wanted. But he frowned and scoffed and kissed me and that was that.

I saw Mila sometime in the middle of summer. She looked tired and old, but she still made jokes and tried to teach me chess. Soon, she started coming to tea, and dancing at the inn. She joined the Companions by the end of summer, and though I saw less of her after that, she seemed happy and hopeful and devilishly bloodthirsty.

All summer long, I wondered where my mother was, how she was doing. I hoped she was happy, that she was free and young and wild. If that red-haired man with the funny accent was with her, I hoped he was happy too.

Sometimes I thought about Balimund, though those thoughts were few and far between. I wondered if he missed me like I sometimes missed him. Was he still handsome; was his laugh still deep and throaty? Did he think of my mother and what she had done, of me and all the things he did not even realise he'd taught me? I wondered what my life would be like if we had stayed with him, my second father.

I even thought of my third father, who had died with my sister. Would he be dead now anyway? Or would he be as alive and timeless as he was when we'd first met and the world beneath me had shifted. Would I be the same? Would he and my mother have been there to guide me, to give me all the lessons I'd only learned from mistakes? Or would I just be back where I am today, only with a husband and unbloodied hands?

When I reached far enough, I found thoughts about my first father. I never forgot a thing, and all the moments between us were still vivid in my mind. But it had been eighteen years, and the memories since outnumbered all those I'd had with him. Was he still important? Or did he only change me by dying? I thought of the lessons he'd given me: how to be a sister and a daughter. That seemed useless now, without a father or a mother or even a brother or sister. He taught me my first words, whatever they might have been… but I spoke so little in this life of mine that those words seemed to have been no use to me. My father, who I'd thought had given me all the lessons I'd ever need, was nothing but a dead man in a box.

Those thoughts brought me a silent despair, but I shelved it that summer in 4E 219, because the things and the people that did matter were the ones who surrounded me. My mother and those fathers who always changed and left, they were nothing but the events which threw my simple little life into action. Really, it was Runa, who danced with me, and Lars who kissed me; my children who took hold of the largest space in my heart; it was Evesa and Dagny who were so far away, but loved me still; Kust who loved my children, and Mila whose nose I envied—they were the ones that mattered that summer, and all the summers before. The despair was incorrigible, but what did it change in the end?

* * *

I received a letter in early fall, from a man I'd known long ago. I had not spoken to him since I'd left Solitude, and my heart and hands had trembled with excitement.

_16th of Heart-Fire, 4E 219_

_Loralei,_

_It's been six years! Can you even believe it? I sent a letter to Falkreath at first, but your steward returned my letter and told me your new address._

_I'm sorry I waited so long to write to you, but I've never been a good speller, and to say the required materials were sparse is an understatement. I don't really have a true reason for writing to you, but you were the first person I thought of when I got this parchment._

_I got a job down at the docks for the East Empire Trading Company a few years ago. I'm surprisingly high up, and now I have myself a nice house inside Solitude. It's nothing like the one you used to live in, but it's decent._

_My wife is Erdi, who works as a maid in the Blue Palace. She is beautiful and fun, and has a tangent for adventure. Unfortunately she doesn't get the opportunity to go adventuring much, but she's happy nonetheless._

_How have you been? Sometimes I think of you and your daughter. I wonder what she looks like, what_ you _look like now. I'm sure she's as pretty as you are though. How are the horses? They must be pretty old by now, but it's hard to imagine Bam Bam and Birdie as anything but the lively and always hungry beats they were._

_I have lots of parchment and lots of ink now, so feel free to write me whenever you feel like it. Perhaps you and your daughter might come back up and visit. Erdi isn't great with children, but she wouldn't mind, I'm sure._

_Best of luck,  
Blaise_

I wrote him back immediately, and when Lars asked who he was, I spent hours telling him of how he was my friend when I'd felt the loneliest in my life. Lars seemed hurt by that, perhaps he felt guilty, but my vindictive heart could only believe that was good.

* * *

On the old emperor's birthday, Lars brought me to the House of Clan Battle-Born.

"This could be ours," he said. I didn't care for the big house, or all the riches within, or even all its history. But Lars thought he was offering the world, a world he could make with me, for our children, for our lives together. "What do you think, Loralei?"

"What are you asking?" I said as he held my hands.

"I'm asking you to live here, to be my wife," he explained. His eyes were hopeful, bright, and through them I could almost see the dreams and visions of richness and beauty and  _me_  flash before his eyes.

"Then of course," I said, my mind aflutter with dreams and visions of simplicity and love and  _us_.

"Together, then?" He smiled, and my heart bloomed like it had the spring before he broke it.

"Together."

* * *

We wed the spring of 4E 220, in Dragonsreach, and I was surrounded by the love I had earned and lost and given throughout my life. Maramal married us, and his daughters and their mother held hands and cried together. Dagny brought her beautiful firstborn, Lorgren, who told Vittoria she was pretty. Mila cried and smiled and she and Dagny embraced when they saw each other. Blaise and his beautiful wife brought us trinkets and wines from the East Empire Company.

The wedding itself, I can make out in smiles and familiar faces; in voices which I had not realised I'd longed to hear. My wedding was Lars and his wide blue eyes, his wide proud grin. It was Runa who did not write me a song, but danced to the one which wove between our skins and made our souls and our friendship one.

And after, on our way to our House of Clan Battle-Born, once all the celebrations of love and life had ended, the moon was high in the sky and the bright stars twinkled. While the crickets chirped, and Lars dreamed of pretty things and pretty girls, I picked a blue flower from its stem and tucked it behind my ear, dreaming of a pretty girl with red hair, pale lips, and a crown of blue flowers.

* * *

 **EPILOGUE**  
~ 4E 225 ~

"By the divines, I can't believe he can walk already," I cooed, watching as the small boy waddled around the floor. He was fat, even for a child of less than one, but he seemed strong as well. Runa and Francois' son looked like neither of them. He had dark, inky hair, and an almost sickly complexion. They had found him as an infant, with only the blanket around him and the strange rock in his hand. The rock had been round and heavy, with strange and non-identifiable markings. They'd named him Rune, and had loved him like their own. But ever since the pair had found him in a shipwreck on the shores near Solitude, they had feared for his seemingly weakly health.

Leila, his sister, sat nearby, on the bench beside her mother. She had flaxen hair, and gentle brown eyes, but even at just two, she sat tall and proudly. She seemed almost the mirror image of her mother, her eyes being the only sign she belonged also to her father. Her name belonged to me, and when she was born in 4E 223 and Runa squeezed my hand and muttered, "I named her Loralei. It's a rich girl name," I'd cried and laughed and held Runa's beautiful girl in my arms.

"They grow up so fast," Runa agreed, looking over at my children, who were eating some snacks at the other end of the room.

My heart twanged, and I moved to my hand to my belly. I was far along in my third pregnancy, and would be due any day now. The discomfort was immense, and my largeness made it almost hard for me to do anything without struggle, but part of me was anxious. It had been a long time since I'd had an infant.

The children were excited though. Vittoria, who had turned twelve earlier that year, was happy for this child, grateful that our family was growing. Nelkir, who was ten, was ecstatic. "I've wanted to be a big brother for so long now," he'd explained to me. But it was Lars who was most excited of all. I hoped it was more happiness than guilt, but he'd made sure to dote on me and our whole family throughout. At times his attention annoyed me, but I knew he meant well. I supposed I just was not used to it—having someone else there for it all.

"I've been working on a new song." Runa shifted, handing Leila a long string of yellow taffy.

"Oh yeah? What's it about?" I asked.

"Riften, actually. Evesa wrote about being a little homesick, and she went on this long tangent about Riften and all its history and blah blah. It just made me miss it."

"I've been having dreams about it lately," I confessed. They had started before I knew I was pregnant, becoming more and more vivid, lasting longer and longer. I dreamt of grey skies and a wooden world. I dreamt of scary old men, throaty laughs and red hair. The dreams were my childhood in Riften, all the music and the leaving and the bees—only it was different. I would see my father in the garden, with his apothecary satchel, gathering herbs amongst the bees. Sometimes he'd make us dinner or kiss mother hello. "Welcome home, dear," I'd hear him say, his voice real and loud and true.

Hroar would be there too, clapping along to mine and Runa's songs. Sometimes he would join me up on my barrel, and tell me of the fish he'd caught at the fishery down below, or how he'd snuck a taste of Black-Briar mead. We would talk about our mother and her adventures, of Lydia, so gallant with her grey sword. We would listen to our father's stories, memorize the songs. The routine of Riften would be us holding hands in the market stalls, sharing prayers at temple, doing chores and bickering later.

These dreams were my childhood, only less lonely and less broken. The neglect was nonexistent, the grey was no longer my foreground, but my background: unnoticeable and unchanging. It was a beautiful dream, one where I could remember my father's voice, and I could hold my brother's sweaty hand. But when I woke, I would be left deaf and crying, my hands empty and cold.

"Me too…" Runa said, not asking any further. I wanted to ask what she dreamt, but I didn't, because it was Hroar who asked the questions. I only listened, and waited, and waited, waiting forever and melting into the grey.

* * *

The pain was excruciating, it was pain which I had not experienced with my first two children. I felt as though I was being ripped apart, my body being torn in two. Runa and Lars held my hands, and didn't flinch when I squeezed theirs unmercifully. Runa remained somewhat calm, even through all the screaming and the blood. Over and over again, she reassured me, "It's okay, lovely Loralei, just push." Lars' face was drained of blood, and he didn't manage to say much, unless it was to shout at Danica, "What are you doing?!" If he said other things, I did not notice.

It seemed like years before the child was out, and I heard the small, shrill scream of a baby. My body began to sigh, and I smiled up at Lars when Danica said, "It's a boy!" But that moment was short-lived, for the pain only roared up again once more. "By the divines, there's another one!" Quickly, Danica cut the cord and passed the squealing infant over to Runa. "Clean him," she demanded. Danica returned to end of the bed, and I let out a whimper. "It's almost done, Loralei. Just one more to go, you can do this."

And so I screamed and pushed, and another baby boy emerged from my body. I cried when Danica laid him in my arms, still un-cleaned. He was red-faced and beautiful, and screamed with the lungs of a singer, and it was almost like I could hear my father's voice again, almost like my hand was no longer cold, nor empty.

Lars held the other child now (Runa having gone to wake the other children), and I made room for them next to me while Danica and Lars' mother scurried around cleaning up.

"They're amazing," Lars breathed, looking bewilderedly at the son in his arms. He looked up and frowned a little. "Are you still in pain?" he asked, almost frantic.

I shook my head. The pain between my legs still lingered, but I could only concentrate on the boy in my arms, the boys next to me. "This is Hroar," I said, and I found understanding in Lars' face.

"This is Jon," he said, and I understood.

Lars' mother took the baby from my arms and proceeded to clean him and swaddle him. But before long, both Jon and Hroar were in my arms again, and Vittoria and Nelkir knelt by the bedside.

"There's two," Vittoria remarked, gently touching Hroar's nose with the pink tip of her finger.

"One for each of us." Nelkir smiled, his dimple unforgivable. Lars chuckled softly beside me.

"What are their names?" Vittoria asked.

"Jon," I indicated, nodding to the infant on the left, "and Hroar."

"Those are good names," said Nelkir, putting his hand on my arm.

"Yeah," I said, feeling almost complete.  _These names_ , I thought,  _these names are everything._

* * *

It was exactly three months later, on the 3rd of Sun's Dusk, once all was settled and simple and nice again, that I received a letter. The courier came up to our door in the early morning, wearing an ugly hat and thick-soled shoes.

"Good morning, ma'am," he greeted. "Are you Loralei?"

"Yes," I said, taking the letter from his dirty hands. He said good day and was off. I shut the door behind me, and went to sit by the fire.

I'd assumed it was a letter from Dagny or Evesa, but as I sat, and held the paper in my hands, I felt my heart lurch. The parchment was heavy, thick, a little off-white. It smelled faintly of rain and dust, and the all-too familiar musk of blood and mischief.

 _That's not right_ , I thought, feeling a lump in my throat. I toyed with the thought that it might not be from  _her_ , that there were many rich people with fine parchment.  _She's not even rich anymore_ , I reminded myself,  _she left it all to me_. Yet, I knew in my heart that though Elaira would always be flaky, always be moving and changing, I knew there were the consistencies, the habits that never faltered. The way she said my name was one. "Loralei," she'd say, and it would be almost breathy, almost caring, almost condescending,  _almost_  loving,  _almost._ The way she breathed never changed either. She did not breathe from her mouth like Runa, but her breaths were steady and composed. It seemed as though breathing was not natural for her—it was like she controlled it; every intake and every outtake.

She also loved this parchment; this thick, off-white parchment that smelled like battle and elegance.

There was no denying that this seemingly innocent piece of thick, off-white parchment belonged to Elaira.

My hands shook, and my breaths seemed to come harder, when I made that conclusion. I didn't know if I wanted to tear it open or tear it apart. I did neither. Instead, I stared at it, shaking in my hands until Lars spoke.

"What's that?" It startled me. My hands stopped shaking and I looked up to see him descending the stairs with Hroar in his arm.

"It's… a letter."

"Oh, was it the courier who knocked?" he asked, sitting down next to me. I nodded. "Who's it from?"

"I think it's… it's from my mother." Lars frowned and glanced at the paper.

"Are you going to open it?"

"I don't think I can," I admitted.

"Do you want me to?" he asked, his frown lightening slightly.

"Yeah, actually," I said, feeling somewhat more relieved. He took the letter in his free hand, and when I took Hroar from him, he unfolded the parchment.

I looked away as he studied it, changing my focus instead to Hroar. His eyes were a strange colour, neither blue nor green or hazel. They were dark, with brown lining the iris, and a strange wash of taupe and ecru closer to the pupil. His twin's eyes were bright green, like his older sister's, but Hroar's eyes were his own. They were calming though, and from looking at them my heart seemed to steady. We stared at each other, both wide-eyed and blinking for what seemed like a long moment. It was Lars who interrupted once more.

"That's strange," he said. I looked up, and he turned the letter so I could see.

Before I really saw what he showed, I felt a strange hopefulness grow within me. Perhaps I wanted to hear from my mother, maybe even see her again. A million thoughts raced through my mind about what she might have to say; if she would apologize or catch me up on all the past years' adventures. Maybe she would say she loved me over and over, promise me that all those lessons had been a lie, promise me she'd come back and teach me all the beautiful truths, and love me some more, love me properly.

For that moment of hope, I imagined her return, and I imagined her goodbye. I had wanted our last goodbye to be truly our last; I had believed it would be. But that moment told me that that wanting was false, and that belief was wrong.  _Mothers and daughters never say goodbye, not truly_ , was what I believed in that moment.

But that whole feeling, that entity of comfort and of grace was very quickly killed, for what I read on that paper was nothing at all. I did not see apologies or sadness or hope. What I saw were unfamiliar markings etched in blue ink across the page. I could recognise my mother's quick and messy scrawl, but the symbols or words she scrawled were alien to me.

 _That's not fair_ , was my first thought.  _How can she do this? This letter, this note, is_ nothing _. I don't deserve this_.

"What…" I breathed, grabbing the sheet with one hand. "Is this a jest?"

"I… I didn't expect that," Lars said.

"Well, of course not! Who writes to their daughter, after more than half a decade, in a pagan language?!"

"Well… I'm pretty sure that's dragon language," Lars informed.

"How would you know dragon language?" I scoffed.

"I just recognise some of the markings from a songbook Dagny showed me once," he explained.

"Could you translate?" I said, almost panicked. I felt hysteria now; a confusion of anger and amusement and betrayal.

"No,  _I_ couldn't," he said. "But I know who could." He smirked, and I sneered, my heart thumping in adrenaline and anticipation.

"Well, on with it! Who?"

"The greybeards, dearie," he revealed.

My bones tightened, and I felt my blood evaporate.  _The Greybeards_ , I thought.  _What use are they to me all the way up in High Hrothgar?_

"Oh," I said, feeling the starts of frustration bubble in my chest and water in my eyes. Lars placed his hand on my back and sighed.

"Don't look so down. I'll go for you."

"No," I objected. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You know I can do it," he said.

"Okay, but it's not worth it."

"Don't you want to know what it says?" Lars asked, frowning at the paper.

"No," I found myself saying. I wondered if it was true. "Elaira just wants to be mysterious—cryptic, I don't know.  _Romantic_." I scoffed. "I won't have it."

"But what if these are her last words to you?" I seethed, trying to blink away the hot frustration in my eyes. I couldn't understand any of it. Why would she bother writing at all? I had thought I'd found peace without her, without any of those who'd left me. But this was not fair, it wasn't right, it wasn't supposed to be this way.

I breathed, placed Hroar on his father's lap, and stood up. "I have to go," I croaked, trembling, seething.

"What? Where?" Lars said, eyes wide.

"I'll be back," I muttered, wiping wetness from my face, and striding to the door.

The wind bit and snapped bitterly, and I would have cursed myself for forgetting my cloak, but I couldn't think straight, my thoughts and heart raced incoherently and unsteadily. I made my way through the early morning winds, and finally up into Belethor's General Goods. A small bell chimed as I pushed through the door.

"Hi, Lo—" Francois greeted before I pressed past him and the children. I climbed up the stairs, my slippered feet clanking against the creaking wood.

The tears warmed my face, and my heart still thumped erratically. My thoughts were everywhere, but they were everywhere where  _she_  had been.

I was hyperventilating, grasping for air by the time I nearly collapsed beside Runa on her bed. She woke now; fear, then muffled comprehension on her face. I couldn't make out her features though and the more I tried to, her face blurred further.

"Loralei," she said. "Loralei, wha—" She took my shoulders, trying to steady me. "What's wrong, Lorie? Breathe, slow down, what's going on?" I could barely hear Runa's words. Instead, I got a glimpse of my mother standing to in armour, then of her miserable form draping over the big, black, death box. "Shhh, calm down, tell me what's wrong." Now I saw her laughing with a handsome man, and glancing secretly at another. I remembered another laugh too—some wild laugh which had made her so beautiful. "Lorie…" Runa embraced me now, rubbing my back, doing all she could to soothe me. Tears flew from my eyes, and my throat felt dry and stuffy, and I could only see more of her— _her_  tears; when her family died the first time, the second, when she'd broken a handsome man's heart. "Shh," Runa whispered once more. But my thoughts could not be lulled, could not be quieted; not when my life passed through my brain, and I could see all its own consistencies.  _All my memories are of grey skies and blue flowers and_ her _choices._   _My life is more her than me_.

My body felt bitter, brittle, and breakable, and even later, when I was dried of tears and my heart and my breathing slowed, I felt like I was crumbling to pieces. Runa stopped asking what happened, resuming in just holding me while I tried to calm down.

"I got a letter from Elaira," I explained anyway, when my words were no longer sobs. It seemed almost ridiculous now, to have made such a scene for nothing, but it still felt terrible and uncontrollable, even if my body had finished its scene.

"Oh," Runa replied. "What did it say?" I laughed bitterly.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Lars opened it since I couldn't, but it was written in  _dragon_!" She chuckled and made a face.

"That's stupid," she scoffed.

"Truly," I said. "Lars says the Greybeards can translate it for me though."

"Are you going to do it?" she asked, almost excited.

"No," I said.

"How come?"

"She's not worth it," I admitted, frowning.

"Then why are you so upset about it?" Runa asked, tucking my hair behind my ear. "She doesn't deserve this angst either."

"You're right," I admitted. "I just feel like…"  _What do I feel?_

"Like what?" Runa inquired.

"Like everything explodes every time she pops into my life. I feel like all my life has ever been was  _her_ , and the things she's done, the people she's been, the person she made me." I sighed shakily, feeling unwanted heat rise to my eyes.

"But you're  _not_  her. You're Loralei."

"No," I said. "I'm the Dragonborn's daughter."

I thought she might laugh, or cry, or stay silent. Instead, she closed her eyes and snuggled closer. "Don't be so dramatic," she murmured. I laughed, and closed my eyes, thinking of colours and dragons and me.

"Sing for me?" I whispered, calm, and broken, and peaceful. Questions and visions, memories and thoughts danced in my mind, but in my way of ways, I let the curtain drop, shielding them from my brain. It was a strange thing, to live so many years, in so many lives, in so many shadows, and still feel nothing but a song which made it all okay again.

_Oh! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned on posting on the 28th, for reasons I'm sure you can all figure out, but I finished this a couple days ago, and could wait no longer. I really appreciate anyone who has read this story. Your time and your appreciation has meant the world to me over the past year. All your comments have been read, considered, and are so important to me. I hope this story had some sort of effect on you as it has on me, even if just for a second you enjoyed it. 
> 
> It's been fun, and as always, reviews are like taffy and sweetrolls. Godspeed *heart*


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